


I only wish I had the strength to let it show

by wonthetrade



Series: my head's not bowed [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonthetrade/pseuds/wonthetrade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Roman finds out Steph's in love with him, it's all she can do to backtrack and all he can do to catch up. Everything else is just FUBAR.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I only wish I had the strength to let it show

**Author's Note:**

> If you got here by searching yourself of someone you know, turn back now. It's for your own health and safety.
> 
> Also, [this](http://8tracks.com/moonymuch/i-wish-you-were-mine) is an excellent playlist to ahhhh...enhance the reading experience. There's a lot of angst, guys.

_Summer 2016_

“Look Latts, you’d be a delightful Bachelorette, but that would mean that you’d have to be on _The Bachelor_ first and do you really want to put yourself through that?”

“Are you kidding me? I’d kill at it. I won’t talk behind anyone’s back, I’ll just fight them when I’m pissed off at them.” She says this with a perfectly straight face, as if this makes sense at all - which, she has a point, but still.

“Latts. Honey. That’s a _terrible_ idea.” Steph can just see it, and while it would be entertaining, it would also be a complete disaster.

Mike nods as soberly as possible (which is to say, not soberly at _all_ ). “It totally is. Wait. No. It isn’t! Stop ruining my hopes and dreams, Jonesy.”

Steph groans and drops her head to Mike’s shoulder, wincing because Mike is _solid._ Hazards of the job. She’s a little jealous though, because Mike is built like d man should be, while Steph has such a hard time putting on muscle. “No, Latts.”

“Keep thinking that, bean,” she declares, patting her on the head. Steph doesn’t even twitch at the random nickname - Mike has been giving people nutty nicknames ever since she was called up. It’s probably Ovechkin’s influence. “All those guys who are supposed to be in love with you? Sign me up...but first I gotta piss.”

Steph snorts and shoves her on the stool. “Go. Try not to make a detour past the guys,” she calls as Mike wobbles away. Not that she’s concerned for her, because the guys know to stay well away from them when they go on one of these benders, otherwise they’re liable to get their balls chopped off.

Really, it’s better this way. It gives them some time to blow off steam, to chat on their own about anything and everything, from tv to hockey to hair tips and the occasional rant about boys. Steph and Mike are in the same boat in that respect, and commiserate often.

Her phone chimes in her pocket. _forgot where the bathroom is, can u find me?_

Oh lord, Mike must be worse off than she thought, and wandered into the hotel rather than going to the club’s restrooms. _Stay put, I’m coming._

Sure enough, she’s in some hallway, leaning against a door with her eyes closed. Steph sighs and reaches out. “Come on, Latts, the bathroom’s this way-”

Mike grabs her by the shoulders and whirls. Steph, caught off-balance because she’s drunk and wearing high heels, topples forward into the now open door. “Am I good or am I good?” she hears as the door slams shut behind her.

A door that is now stuck fast. “Michaela Latta, you come back here and open this door right now!” she bellows.

“I have a feeling she won’t,” says a dry voice from behind her and Steph freezes. No. No, this can’t be happening. Mike did not just lock her in a closet with-

“Roman?” she squeaks. “What-how?”

“Hang on, I think I found the light switch.” Fingers brush her bare arms and she fights the shiver. “Whoops, sorry, but I think it-”

Bright light floods the space and it’s exactly what she dreaded - Roman Josi, blinking and smiling at her. “What happened?”

He shrugs. “Latts said that you were out here crying and that I needed to talk to you, so I came.” Steph ignores the way her stomach jumps because of course Roman would come and talk to her. He’s one of the nicest people she knows. “The next thing I knew, I was in here. And now you’re here! I don’t suppose you have your phone? I left mine at the table.”

“Of course I do, I have my purse-” Steph trails off, realizing that her purse is not hanging off her shoulder, nor is it on the floor. Mike must have grabbed it when she was shoving her in the closet. So, not so drunk at all, but definitely not sober. And very, very dead once Steph busts out of here. “Or not,” she sighs, resigned.

Roman just shrugs. “Well, there are worse people to be stuck with,” he jokes, leaning back against the shelves. His eyes are pure gold in this light, like when he scores a goal and is cellying on the ice. They do that around her too sometimes, shifting from green to gold and she likes to pretend it’s a look that’s just for her.

Crap, she’s staring. It’s hard not to, with him. It’s not just the fact that he’s so goddamn pretty (which he is), but Roman just has a way about him, the perfect blend of confidence, kindness, sincerity, and charisma that just draws people to him like flies. “Well-” her voice sticks in her throat. “I’m sure if we yell loud enough, someone will come and find us eventually.”

She turns towards the door and freezes when his fingertips brush against her bare shoulder. “You look really nice tonight, I didn’t get to tell you. What do you and Latts talk about, anyway?”

“Not just boys, I’ll tell you that.” Even if they talk about boys and their pathetic excuses for love lives about 99% of the time. “We talk about dogs. Netflix. Basketball.” Well. _She_ talks about basketball and Mike’ eyes glaze over because she prefers football.

“I see.” He’s smiling again, fond and soft and honestly, someone needs to get them out of there before she does something monumentally stupid like throw herself at him. She’s just drunk enough, and he’s close enough, for her to seriously consider it. “So you just don’t want us there for the times you’re talking about boys. Or girls. Or whoever. Anyone we know?”

“Please, like I’d tell you if we did.”

His entire face lights up with unholy glee. “You _do_ talk about us! Tell me too, I love gossip!”

“Like hell!” Steph squawks, backing away towards the door because she knows the look on his face. He’ll start tickling any moment and she absolutely does not want to wrestle with him inside a goddamn closet because it wouldn’t even be a euphemism for something else.

Roman pouts, moving ever closer. “Aw, come on Jonesy, what are you telling Latts that you can’t tell us?”

Fuck. His cologne smells so damn good, and now that’s he’s closer she can see where his white shirt gaps a little low on his chest and _eyes up Jones-_

The door flies open, sending Steph tumbling backwards with an unearthly shriek. _I’m never wearing heels again,_ she thinks sourly. Thank goodness (or not) for athletic reflexes, because Roman lunges forward, grabs her flailing arms, and tugs her securely against him like they’re in some rom-com. “Some finesse, please, Nate,” he scolds over her head and sure enough, Nate’s standing in the hallway, looking sheepish.

“Sorry. It’s just, I saw Latts slinking by looking way too pleased with herself and you’d been gone for so long. Willy and Lindy are checking the other hallways.”

Steph peels herself away from Roman and god, she’s going to need that spa day tomorrow. “Good thing you found us,” she says with as much dignity as possible. “Which way did she go?”

Nate points down the hallway and she takes off, just in time to hear him say, “Willy says Latts has a tendency to do this when she’s drunk. It’s happened a few times to Bur with some of the girls he likes.”

Now he’s going to wonder why Mike did that with the two of them. Yup, she’s definitely going to kill her.

 

They rejoin the boys on the beach the next day, after a very, very long spa session. Mike had been hungover and apologetic (“I don’t know where it comes from, I swear!”), and Steph was inclined towards forgiveness. It’s difficult to hold a grudge when someone is slowly wringing every bit of pain and tightness out of your muscles.

Mike immediately runs down the beach and into the surf, leaping onto Tom’s back and sending both of them tumbling into the water. Steph snorts and drops down onto the deck chair beside Roman. “Dorks.”

“Jonesy!” He puts his book aside and turns towards her. One thing about Roman is that he always gives you his full attention. There’s no such thing as multitasking with him, unless it’s on the ice.  “How was the spa?”

“Very relaxing,” she sighs.

“I’ll bet.” He follows her gaze out to the water, where Mike and Tom are having a full-on water war. “There’s something there, don’t you think?” he asks, tipping his head towards them. “At first I wondered if it was a PR thing, with all the social media, but the more I see them together the more I think…”

It’s actually a brilliant strategy. If Mike and Tom ever did get their act together, nothing would change on the surface because they already act like a couple. They’d probably have to run anything remotely PDA-like past PR, but PR tends to keep a tight rein on that kind of thing these days. “On Latts’ side for sure. Willy’s? I don’t know.”

“You don’t think Willy feels anything?”

She smiles a little sadly at that. “If he felt anything, would he really be parading all those girls around?” She can always tell when Tom’s brought someone back to the apartment or stays over with someone else, because Mike’ penalty minutes go up. Mike is always that bit more vicious, just so she can cover up the pain. Steph understands that kind of feeling only too well. Unfortunately, fighting isn’t really in her job description, nor is she inclined towards it in the first place.

Roman makes a thoughtful noise. “Willy isn’t the most perceptive. Perhaps he doesn’t even know how he feels.”

“Maybe.” For Mike’ sake, she hopes so. Mike wants the whole package: white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a dog or two. She gravitates towards kids and animals, and them to her. Tom, on the other hand, is nowhere near that frame of mind. Not that Steph blames him - they’re the same age, after all. Still, he’d have to be an idiot not to see just how amazing Mike is, how she’d do absolutely anything for him.

“We’ll have to keep an eye on it and see what happens. Maybe push them into a closet, huh?”

Steph groans. “That’s not why Latts did that, she was just being a pain in the ass,” she lies through her teeth.

“No, but that’s why we’ll do it.” Roman nods decisively and picks his book up again. “Just wait, Jonesy. Love always finds a way.”

“That is such a line from a rom-com, Roman, do you really believe that?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”

No, she is not going to allow that spark of hope. Of _course_ she’s had little fleeting fantasies from time to time, fantasies where he would finally open his eyes and realize it’s only been her, it’s _always_ been her. But that’s all they are, at the end of the day. Fantasies. And Steph chooses to live in the real world.

 

The Preds start off the regular season in Dallas. It’s always a challenge, playing the Stars. They’re physical, they’re fast, they’re dynamic. For her team it always is a test of the depth of their d and Steph relishes it. Mostly she just loves playing against Jordie and Segs. She doesn’t face Segs often, shutting her down is usually left to their top line and Webs and Roman.

Jordie, though - she’s usually out at the same time and they love chirping one another. It’s never anything personal, nothing overly vicious, and Steph likes pitting her height and skill against Jordie’s muscle.

With this game, there’s enough time between their practice and the Stars’ for her to meet up with Jordie and Segs on the ice. She grins at Jordie. “Two on one?” she asks.

She throws the puck up in the air, catches it on her glove, and grins. “Should be easy, shutting this one down,” she remarks, nodding at Segs.

Segs rolls her eyes. “Whatever, you two goons. I could take the two of you anyday.”

“Wanna bet?” Steph drawls.

“Losing side buys drinks after the game,” Segs decides.

Jordie grins, all shark-like. “Better be prepared to buy our drinks then, Seggy.”

The puck drops and they’re off, laughing and chirping.

Later, Elly pouts at her over team dinner. “Jonesy, I don’t like you blowing us off to go and play with Seguin and the other Benn.”

She shrugs. “You guys just have to deal. I’ve got to get my girl time when I can and no, none of you are invited when we go out tonight.”

There are more than a few groans and boos at that announcement and Steph ignores it all, sipping her water and grinning. She loves her team, she really does, but she takes the girl time when she can because sometimes it’s just sorely needed.

Case in point: going out with the girls means she packs a going out dress and spends more time on hair and makeup after winning in OT. The locker room explodes with cheers and appreciative whistles when she comes back through dressed to the nines. The showboat in her obliges them with a twirl and a perfect curtsy, because despite hockey she’s definitely a bit of a Southern belle.

“Sure you don’t want any of us with you?” Webs asks, the big overprotective lug. “Those Dallas boys-”

“This is my home turf, remember?” Steph laughs. “If anyone knows how to deal with Texas boys, it’s me.” She sends pointed looks towards Elly and Eky, who are looking particularly mulish about the whole thing. Roman gives her a thumbs up. “Seriously. Stop. Go and have fun, I’ll do the same.”

Segs and Jordie are already waiting out in the corridor, Segs dolled up and Jordie decidedly not. “You both suck,” Segs pouts as Steph emerges.

“Whatever, Seggy, you make more than either of us,” Jordie snorts. “You can definitely afford to pony up for our drinks.”

“You could have at least dressed up then, Jordie,” she grumbles as they head down towards the parking lot.

Jordie rolls her eyes. “Never going to happen.”

There’s a never-ending stream of photos of Segs’ and Jordie’s dogs for Steph to coo over, and she does, while they settle into a lively debate about their favorite teams’ prospects in the CWHL and the NWHL. It’s hard for them to pick teams, since so many of their teammates on Team Canada and Team USA respectively are scattered throughout the leagues. “The Furies are absolutely going to take the Clarkson Cup this year,” Segs announces with complete confidence. “Have you seen their lineup? It’s fucking _stacked._ ”

“You’re just completely incapable of cheering for a team outside of Toronto,” Jordie points out, waving her pint in the air. Some of it sloshes onto the table and she makes a moue of disappointment. Steph mops up the spill, snickering when Jordie makes a happy sound and plants a smacking kiss on her cheek.

“I am _not_ ,” Segs retorts. “But you know, what’s the point in rooting for the Leafs when I’m playing for the Stars? The least I can do is support my hometown girls.” Indeed, she’d tweeted a picture of herself wearing a Natalie Spooner jersey for the Furies’ season opener.

Jordie just shrugs. She has a tendency to root for the underdog, which means she’s been rooting for the Blades and the Riveters. “Still waiting for the CWHL to expand to BC.”

“Go Pride!” Steph cheers.

They’re still swapping national team stories (“It’s Finland, okay, it’s perfectly fine to go running naked through the woods to jump in the lake after you’ve been in the sauna!”) when a mixed contingent of Stars and Predators show up. Segs makes a betrayed noise and points at Jordie. “This is all your fault!”

“Me? What did I do?” she protests as Steph shakes her head at the other players, emphatically waving them away while blatantly ignoring Filip and Elly’s exaggerated sad faces.

“You probably told Jase where we were!”

Jordie at least has the decency to look guilty. “Oops. I might have?” she hazards. “But I didn’t mean to!”

“Party foullllllll,” Steph drawls, dropping her head to Jordie’s shoulder with a laugh.

“Okay drunky, do we need to get you some water?” Segs laughs, signalling for a waitress while Jordie pats at Steph’s head with an affectionate smile.

Steph frowns. “I’m not drunk.” But then again, she’s already had two Mexican martinis, so... “Maybe a little drunk.” She’s a little loose and very happy, so that’s all that matters, really.

She pauses by the guys’ table on the way to the bathroom, stopping next to Roman and nudging his shoulder with her hip. “What’s up guys?” she says with a grin.

“How are you still walking straight in those?” Eky wonders, staring down at her feet.

Steph sniffs. “Please. I’m a lady.” Her mama didn’t raise her to be sloppy.

That line provokes more than a few guffaws and grins. Webs shakes his head, also grinning, and pushes his glass of water towards her. She throws it back because she’s not an idiot, thanks.

“You’re different,” Roman observes, a hand landing on the small of her back. It’s nice to lean against him, to take some of the pressure off her feet.

“What do you mean?” she laughs, bracing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve seen me drunk before.”

He nods towards where Jordie and Segs are still chattering away at their table. “With the other women. It’s like...what’s the term? You’ve flipped a switch?” She nods, confused. He gestures with his hands, so very European. “I don’t know, it’s...you’re brighter. It’s very becoming.”

That statement earns him the hairy eyeball from Webs, as well as a chorus of groans from the others. Balled-up napkins come at him from all directions. Steph bats them away while Roman ducks, protesting. “Aw, come on you guys, you know he can’t help himself,” she scolds. It’s just such a _Roman_ thing to say, all flowery and complimentary.

An arm winds through hers. “You are taking _way_ too long, and now _I_ have to go to the bathroom,” Segs says. “Sorry boys, I’m stealing her again, but don’t worry, I’ll return her. Eventually.”

Steph laughs, loud and bright, as Segs spirits her away.

 

The thing is, Steph’s been in love with Roman for almost as long as she’s been in the NHL. It’s hard not to be, because while as a rookie she’d been completely dazzled by Webs’ hockey, Roman is just plain dazzling. It’s the worst-kept secret on the Preds - or the best, considering the fact that Roman doesn’t know.

Unlike last year, Roman is named to the list of Nashville’s 25 Most Beautiful People, earning a lot of ribbing from the guys because Steph got there first.

She doesn’t hear the reporter’s question, but it’s ridiculous how she can pick out his laugh from clear across the locker room and over all the noise. “Yeah, no, I’m glad it happened this year. If it were any of the other guys I probably would have been really mad, but last year it was Jonesy and she’s beautiful. Of course she deserved to be there.”

Her stomach pitches and rolls at the word “beautiful,” but that’s just Roman through and through. She smiles to herself a little sadly, not noticing the way that Webs and Elly are watching her with worried eyes.

She does, however, notice when they corner her later once everyone’s left. “Are you going to be okay, Steph?” Elly asks without preamble. Webs is always a little more awkward in the situations. Captain or not, Steph is his rookie and Roman is his d partner. It’s always a bit of a delicate balance for him.

She shrugs. “What’s another year when it comes to unmanageable feelings?” she jokes. They wince. “Look guys, I’ve managed to make it so far without making the team implode, so lay off the worry a bit, all right?”

“You’ve been different since the World Cup,” Webs blurts and Steph slumps a little bit, sinking down into her stall with a sigh.

There’s a reason for that. She’s happy for Jack, she really is. She and McDavid have been more than a little idiotic with their little dance, and Steph’s wanted to shake her more than a few times for being so oblivious when the chance was right there for the taking. Everyone in the Girl Brigade heaved a massive sigh of relief when they got their shit together, none more so than Steph and Stromer.

Still, it was a little bittersweet, watching the two of them together and knowing the same thing wasn’t in the cards for her. Anyone with eyes could see just how McDavid was just completely gone over Jack. Along that same vein, it’s plainly obvious that Roman has never thought of Steph in that way, and likely never will. “What do you expect, when the McEichel show is playing out right in front of you, day after day?”

Elly snorts. “Okay, well that makes sense.” He sobers a little bit. “But like...have you tried _not_ liking him?”

Webs reaches over and smacks him, _hard_ , provoking a yowl. Steph buries her head in her hands with a watery laugh. “Believe me, Elly, if I could wave a magic wand and not be in love with Roman, I would.” As if it’s that easy to shut off feelings like that. Steph’s been trying for years because there is nothing more inconvenient than being in love with a teammate.

“Steph.” It’s the softer version of Webs’ captain’s voice, but it’s commanding nonetheless. The combination of determination and helplessness on his face is a little funny. “Do what you have to do, okay? We’ve got you.”

Do they, though? she wonders on the drive home. Steph knows what it’s like to be passed over, for someone to not want to take a chance on her. It’s why she’s had so little patience with Jack’s entire anger at the NHL and McDavid. Yes, Jack went second, but she has no idea what it’s like to be projected to go first overall, only for the first few teams to turn around and announce they’d prefer to draft forwards. It stings, knowing that both her sex and her colour counted against her, but heaven forbid she ever complain about it.

Not that she’d trade Nashville for Colorado. Nashville is where she belongs, Nashville is the team that _wanted_ her. But still, she can’t help but wonder if, were things to implode, they would still choose her. How valuable is her depth on d? Is it enough to risk their captain’s partner?

Ugh. The amount of speculation makes her head ache. All she wants is to eat some good food, nap, and maybe marathon something on Netflix.

None of which is meant to be, because Roman is waiting in the lobby of her building, typing away at his phone. “Roman?” They hadn’t made any plans to hang out after practice so she’s admittedly confused. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” She knows every inch of his face, has catalogued his every expression, and the tension in the corners of his eyes is new. “Can I, uh, come up?”

“Sure.” Roman’s been to her place a thousand times since she moved last year so it’s nothing to lead him up, to defrost some of the food in her freezer while he sets out the plates and grabs a few bottles of water.

He’s unusually quiet, hunched over her kitchen counter when they finally sit down to eat. “Hey, what’s up?” she asks, poking at him with her foot.

Roman glances at her, then away. “I heard you. And Webs, and Elly, in the locker room today.”

Her fork clatters to her plate and it’s a struggle, fighting down the wave of sheer blind panic that washes over her. She wants to run, to throw herself out the door or maybe even out the window. Instead, she takes a deep breath. “What did you hear, exactly?”

His face is unnervingly blank as he continues to shovel food into his mouth. “You said that you’re in love with me.”

Oh yes, it’s exactly as bad as she thinks, but Steph does not freak out. She can’t afford to, even if everything is threatening to unravel right in front of her. She never thought he’d figure it out, or overhear it. “Yes. But it’s not a big deal.” Maybe if she repeats it enough it’ll come true.

Or maybe the Oilers will win the Cup.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats slowly, sounding completely baffled.

“Look,” she forces out, her chest tight. “It doesn’t matter, right? I haven’t let it affect anything, especially the way we play. So. Nothing has to change.” Because she’d rather have anything, even the worst of his indifference, than the rejection that’s to follow. Because he’s Roman, he’d never ridicule her, but he’d let her down gently, which is so much worse.

There’s still no discernable response from him and Steph pushes her food away. Her food tastes like ashes anyway.

Finally, Roman exhales and glances at her. “Jonesy. Steph, I don’t-”

No. No, no, she does not want to hear this. She goes cold all over, thinking that it shouldn’t go like this. This is her story, right? Shouldn’t it be all sunshine and flowers and _Steph, I love you too?_ She really has been deluding herself. “Oh Roman. I know, okay?” Her voice cracks and she goes to wrap up her food for later, if only so that she has something to keep her occupied so that she doesn’t go to pieces. “And it’s fine, it really is. This is on me, so you don’t have to-”

“Hey.” He’s behind her, his plate cleared and god, he’s putting it away in her dishwasher like nothing’s happened. She bites down hard on her lip so that she doesn’t burst out into hysterical laughter. There’s absolutely no indication about how he feels about this. “It’s okay. I, um. I need to think about this. I just...I wanted to hear it from you.”

What do you say to something like that? Somehow, “well now you know!” seems a little crass. She settles for shrugging. Roman manages a small smile and lets himself out the door without another word. There’s something final in the sound of the door closing behind him.

Steph sags against the counter, consciously willing the panic attack away. It’s fine, it’s fine, she tells herself, blatantly lying to herself about the fact that everything has gone to hell in a handbasket. With shaking hands, she pulls out her phone and texts Filip. _911._

He responds almost immediately. _I’ll be right over._

Fifteen minutes later he’s there. He takes one look at her face and immediately directs her towards the couch. “I brought those Olive & Sinclair chocolate bars you like so much,” he says, wrapping her up in her thickest, fluffiest blanket. “What do you want to watch?”

“ _Independence Day_.” She needs action and explosions.

“You got it.” He sets everything up and settles against her, tugging her against his side. And if she cries through half of the film, he doesn’t say a thing, just hands her tissues and chocolate.

 

The weirdness doesn’t carry over onto the ice - hard to, considering that she and Roman are rarely on the ice together. Their passes still connect in drills, and their skating is still as smooth as ever. The coaches would be hard-pressed to see that anything’s wrong.

Off the ice is a different story. Roman doesn’t cut her out but he’s definitely distant. There’s no avoiding him, especially when their stalls are next to each other’s. She misses his easy smiles and jokes, and it’s difficult not to tell herself that she’s screwed everything up.

One of the worst parts of having a d corps as close as theirs is that _everyone_ notices, Webs most of all. He keeps shooting her concerned looks and it’s only a matter of time before he confronts her about it. Steph’s just trying to put that off for as long as possible.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the team to notice, either. Nealer idles by her in one practice while she leans against goal next to Peks, waiting for the next round of drills to start. “You know, I thought I’d escaped all this kind of drama when I left Pittsburgh,” he drawls.

Peks takes in her stricken expression and raises his blocker threateningly. “ _Nealer,_ ” he growls.

“Um. What I mean is, it’ll all work out, right? Jonesy, you’re worth a hundred of the girls he picks up-”

Eky comes up from behind him and shoves him away. “Nealer, go _away_. That’s not helping.” Nealer sputters but skates off, shrugging helplessly. “Well, he’s not wrong Jonesy.”

“Not the point, Eky.” She digs the edge of her blade into the ice, scraping away at the top layer. Peks makes a mournful noise and she bumps her shoulder against his in apology.

She’s seen the parade of women through Roman’s life, each one more beautiful than the last. She’s been waiting for one of them to stick, to be the one that hooks him for good. “With the way everything is going, he’s going to end up with Taylor Swift or something.” That segment had made it to _Beneath the Ice_ , him and Becksy talking about trying to sneak into one of the pop star’s parties, with Steph struggling to keep a neutral face when in reality she’d been sick to her stomach.

“Roman?” Eky snorts, genuinely amused. “Our Roman, with Taylor Swift? No way.”

“Look Eky, it’s not a stretch, okay?” she argues. “Fishy’s married to Carrie Underwood. _Carrie Underwood!_ ” There was the one time the PR team thought it would be great if Roman and Filip taught some SI supermodels how to skate and take shots - and for some reason, decided she should be there too. Roman had joked on camera about neither he nor Filip having any game, when in reality he’d walked away with both the models’ numbers. It would have been so much easier if they’d been bitchy, but no, they’d been super nice and traded hair and makeup tips with Steph all morning.

Steph might have a complex about these things. Not going first overall had done a number on her confidence, though the welcome in Nashville had been more than enough to make up for that. Still, there are times when she gets the niggling feeling that despite everything, she’s just not good enough.

With hockey, it’s easy enough to deal with fear. Her father taught her how to swallow it, to channel it into her play so that nothing remains but her own ability and her determination. It works for her, and has helped her when nothing else has.

This situation, though? There’s nothing she can do. There’s no way to become more beautiful, more articulate or just…more. And she wouldn’t want to. She would want to be taken for who she is and on her own merit.

Therefore, it’s her, and her alone, who’s not enough.

“We’re not talking about them, Jonesy, we’re talking about you,” Peks says softly. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t see what he has in you.”

She just shrugs miserably. She’s heard all the platitudes by now and at this point they’re just infuriating. If all he needed was to open his eyes or have a little push, then why hasn’t it happened long ago? Or even now?

Worse is the thought that maybe he does love her - just not in the way she wants.

Whenever someone tries to tell her it's okay, that someone else will see her or want her she just wants to sock them because she doesn't want someone else, she wants _him_.

Him, with his funny English and his inability to eat spicy food and his awful taste in Halloween costumes. With his hugs and his inability to be mean to anyone. How can she even look at someone else when his smile is home? When all it took was one look in his eyes and that was it, there was nothing else she could see?

The whistle blows and Steph and Eky take off. Hockey is the one thing in her life that makes sense right now, and there’s a strange sort of comfort in that.

After practice is one of the d corps lunches, the first since The Incident, and Steph tries to make sure Eky and Elly end up on either side of her, but somehow Roman still winds up sitting right across from her. Webs immediately launches into a story about Dug and Rod’s latest adventure involving their neighbor’s garbage cans which, thank god for Webs.

She’s so focused on _not_ looking at Roman that when she starts swapping salad ingredients with Elly (it’s a thing, okay?), it’s a surprise when he reaches out and stabs Elly’s hand with his fork.

Elly yelps. “Ow! Roman, what the fuck?”

“Strawberry,” Roman points out. “You trying to kill Jonesy?”

Sure enough, there’s an errant strawberry stuck to one of the croutons he’s trying to pass onto her plate. “ _Elly_ ,” Webs drawls, disappointed.

“I wasn’t trying to kill her!” Elly protests, eating the offending combo. His face twists because he doesn’t like croutons, the weirdo. “Sorry, Jonesy.”

Steph shrugs. “It’s okay. That’s why I have an Epi-Pen.”

“But we’d still have to take you to the hospital,” Roman says and oh. That’s really not something she expects any of her teammates to know. Most people tend to think an Epi-Pen is an instant cure rather than something to buy time.

“How do you know that?” she asks.

He shrugs and glances back down at his own food and - are his ears a little red? “Allergies are important things to know about.”

Someone - Eky, probably - kicks her ankle. She ignores it in favor of inspecting her salad to see if any more strawberries are lurking about. Roman’s just being...Roman. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

They fall apart in LA and that’s just one thing you never, ever want to do because LA will always capitalize on that kind of thing. A couple of lucky bounces, Kopitar gets a fucking hatty, Steph almost ( _almost_ ) gets in a fight with Lucic (asshole had it coming to him, honestly), and they lose, 6-2. They don’t fly out to Arizona until tomorrow afternoon, so it’s no surprise that a bunch of them go out and get very, very drunk.

When the loss is this bad, she has no qualms about dancing it off. By now, the guys know to just get her some shots and leave her alone on the dance floor to do her thing. There’s always someone watching to make sure she isn’t hassled, but Steph’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself.

She loses herself in the music, the high synths and the deep, rumbling bass. The music is loud, so loud that she knows her ears will be buzzing later but she can’t bring herself to care. There’s something freeing in just blocking everything else away, in loosening muscles wound tight from a crappy game, and most of all not caring about what anyone else thinks.

The body that brushes up against hers shocks her out of her little meditative coma and she’s not pleased. “I’m not taking dance partners right now,” she bellows, turning around.

“Aw, come on babe,” the guy says. He’s LA slick, with teeth that are too white and hair with too much product (and that’s really saying something, Steph’s a hockey player). “Just a dance.”

“I already said no,” she replies, eyes narrowing. The last time this happened, she’d thrown the guy into an armlock and dragged him over to the nearest bouncer. If this asshole prevents her from dancing, she’s liable to do the same thing.

Roman materializes beside her. “Problem?” he inquires, eyeing the guy through equally narrowed eyes.

“Handling it.”

“Back off man, I was here first!” The dude tries to puff himself up but it’s still fairly obvious Roman has both height and muscle on him.

“Walk away, man, I’m not interested,” Steph snaps, crossing her arms and very obviously flexing her own not so insubstantial muscles. Hell, she probably has more muscle than this guy.

His eyes dart between the two of them before he gives up and walks away. Steph watches him go to make sure he’s actually gone, then turns to Roman. “You can go, too.” She’s just drunk enough to be belligerent and for once, she just doesn’t care.

Roman shrugs. “I like this song. I think I’ll dance, too.” And then he starts dancing - a little awkwardly, but with the beat nonetheless.

Steph eyes him for a moment, wondering if there’s some ulterior motive going on here that she simply can’t parse. But if there is, that’s a problem for sober Steph. All drunk Steph wants to do is dance, so she does.

Somehow they end up dancing together - well, not exactly together, but facing one another and occasionally making eye contact because Steph clearly doesn’t want another dance partner and apparently neither does Roman. She tells herself it’s fine, because as long as their eyes are closed they’re in their own separate bubbles.

Then the song changes. Not necessarily slower, but there’s something seductive in the rhythm and the way it entwines with the singer’s voice, punctuated by deep, heavy bass. Roman moves closer and she lets him, moving in sinuous motions that are quite frankly a bit risque at this point but all she hears is the music, banishing whatever reason she has to somewhere far, far away.

A hand lands on her lower back, resting lightly there in a quiet suggestion to move even closer and she does, draping her arms around his neck.

She almost instantly realizes that this position is a mistake, bringing their faces so close that she can feel his breath hot on her cheek. She spins around, not even protesting when his hands land on her hips to keep her close. The feel of him wrapped around her is intoxicating, the strength of the body behind her, thrilling.

Steph grinds down against him and, oh. There’s no mistaking the hardness pressed against her ass and there’s triumph in being the one to make him feel that way. Heat sparks over her skin, almost unbearably hot, and she tilts her head, brushing her hair away from her neck in a deliberate motion.

She can almost hear him considering the invitation before his lips drag slowly over her nape. Steph shudders, her hands falling down to cover his.

It’s a terrible idea. It’s worse than a terrible idea. It’s a no good, very bad, she’s going to regret it in the morning kind of idea. But she’s at a loss. This could be the answer to getting over him. The guys hit it and quit it all the time, why can’t she?

One night. One night to get him out of her system. She can handle that.

Her head falls back to his shoulder. “Hotel?” she inquires.

His fingertips bite into the curve of her hips and oh, he definitely likes that idea. “You sure?” he murmurs, the words vibrating against her skin.

“Would I ask if I wasn’t?” she returns, breaking out of his hold and stepping away. There’s no room for hesitation here, this is just something she needs to jump into otherwise her good sense is going to take over, alcohol or not. She turns and holds out her hand, arching a brow.

Roman’s face is mostly in shadow, but every once in a while the lights flash over his face and his expression is dark and intent, completely focused on her. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and she shivers. That decides him, because he reaches out, twining his fingers with hers. “Let’s go.”

The trip back to the hotel is made with a minimum of fuss and somehow without being spotted by any of their teammates. Here, in the bright lights of the elevator and the long, slow trip to their rooms there’s plenty of room for doubt to sink in. Roman’s knuckles are white, curved around the handrail, and one foot is scuffing the carpet. He’ll say something any moment but she doesn’t want anything to break this moment. She steps into his space like she’s thought of for so long, winds her arms around her neck and leans up on her toes to press her lips to his.

He makes a small, surprised sound but his hands land on her back once more, his palms warm even through the material of her top. His mouth opens almost instantly in response and she takes advantage, licking into him with a hungry noise and tilting her head for a better angle.

All of her fantasies haven’t prepared her for this, the feel of his body pressed to hers, the grip of his hands on her shirt, or the low growl he lets out as he drags his tongue against her lower lip. The sensation is heady and they’ve barely even started.

The doors slide open on their floor and Steph steps back, letting out a low huff of laughter as he chases her lips. It makes her feel powerful, in charge, and in control. “Easy, lover boy,” she teases. “Your room?”

He doesn’t respond, simply crowds her up against one of the doors, sliding his fingers through her belt loops and resting his thumb against her bare skin beneath her top. Steph’s breath shudders out of her when he brushes his nose against hers in a movement that is slow and almost affectionate.

The door beeps and gives beneath her but he guides her in smoothly so that she doesn’t trip over her own feet and Steph can’t help but feel like it’s almost too smooth, like it’s something he’s done before. How many girls has he pulled that particular move with?

Jealousy makes her stumble and jerk back, breaking the kiss. Roman’s eyes fly open and he reaches for her, no hesitation in his movements and honestly, she just needs to get over herself and be like him. “Okay, Steph?”

“Perfect,” she responds, whipping her shirt off and tossing it to the ground. It’s a little gratifying when he sucks in a breath, his eyes trailing over the exposed skin. “What? You see this all the time.”

Roman shakes his head. “Not like this,” he tells her, stepping close and backing her against the wall once more. One hand slides into her hair, tilting her head back so he can set his lips to her neck while the other slides over her ass, shifting their hips until she’s grinding down against his thigh. This is more than just suggestive, it’s downright filthy and Steph grips hard at his shoulders, throwing her head back when his teeth scrape over her collarbone.

“ _Roman_ ,” she whines, high in her throat, and the grip on her hips turns almost bruising.

“So responsive,” he breathes, pressing even harder against her. “Can you come like this, Steph?”

She just growls in response, sliding her own hands into his hair and jerking him up so he’ll look at her. “Stop playing around and just _do it_.” She punctuates the statement by circling her hips, letting out a long, throaty moan when she finds the right rhythm. The friction against her clit is so delicious, and she’s been wet from the moment they started dancing. It wouldn’t take long, not when she’s feeling like this.

His pupils are blown, nothing but a thin ring of gold around black. “Shit, _Steph_ ,” and then he’s moving with her. His mouth closes over her breast, hot and wet even through the fabric of her bra and it’s so, so easy to slip over that edge, stars exploding behind her eyes as she comes.

Steph slumps back against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Kind of difficult, when he’s still mouthing at her breasts and grinding against her. Not that she’s complaining.

She does, however, shriek a little bit when he shifts his grip and pushes off from the wall, holding her tight in his arms and making his way over to the bed. He doesn’t drop her, but lays her back slowly, kissing down the line of her body as he works his way down, pulling the rest of her clothing off until she’s completely nude. He’s quicker with his own clothes, whipping off his shirt and struggling out of his jeans and Steph props herself up on her elbows, enjoying the way the street lights splash over him, accentuating every muscular dip and curve of his body. He notices her watching and his movements slow, his gaze every bit as focused on her as hers is on him.

Steph’s thought about this a lot, thought about him like this a lot, but she doesn’t think she’d ever quite pinpointed just how dark his eyes would get staring down at her, doesn’t quite think she’d ever put quite that much reverence into his face as he slides a palm down her side.

And no, she doesn’t want that, doesn’t _need_ it no matter what her heart says, so she pulls him down over her, tilting her face up for another kiss even as her other hand guides his to where she’s wet and aching.

Roman hisses. “Fuck.” He wastes no time, his thumb circling her clit while one finger twists slowly, pushing into her, mimicking the movement of his tongue sliding over hers.

Need. Gods, she needs that crazy, spiralling heat again and she can actually feel herself beginning to splinter, moving her hips in short circles until he slips another finger inside her. “Roman, please,” she begs because he’s still moving too slow, driving her absolutely crazy with the slow, lazy circles he’s drawing around her clit and the easy rhythm of his fingers. “I need-”

Heat uncoils in her stomach when he increases the pressure, ups the pace. “Like that?” he murmurs, biting down lightly on her lower lip and Steph simply shatters, shuddering beneath him, gripping the sheets as she rides it out.

Reality comes back with the brush of his lips along her jaw. “Beautiful,” he whispers and she hates how heart heart jumps at that. He doesn’t have to say those things, she’s already here, isn’t she?

She must do something - make a sound, a face, anything - because his brow furrows. “Steph-”

This isn’t the time for talking. Steph angles her chin up, shuts him up the only way she knows how. It’s her turn to explore now, rolling onto her side to get her hands on his body in ways she’s only dreamed about. The line of his collarbone is mesmerizing and she licks into the hollow there, grinning when his muscles tighten underneath her fingers.

Here, now, it’s so easy to lie to herself about what’s happening, to pretend that this is something she can actually have. So she does, giving in to the sensations, of his hand curled in her hair like she’s something precious, and the feel of his lips tracing the shell of her ear, murmuring lowly in words she does not understand. Her body thrums at the attention, moving against him in almost unconscious movements.

Her fingers trail down, down, down to curl around his cock, moving slowly up and down his length. He curses again and she likes knowing that she’s the one who caused that. “Oh, was I not supposed to do that?” she asks innocently, punctuating the question with increased pressure and a slight twist of her wrist.

“ _Minx_ ,” Roman growls, rolling her onto her back, settling himself between her thighs. His weight is delicious over her and the sight of him even more so, miles and miles of skin stretched taut over muscle. She arches her back, rocks against him in a way that has him rutting against her and oh, does that make her feel _powerful._ Wanted. But it’s not enough, the ache between her thighs is almost unbearable.

“Why don’t you do something about it?” she challenges breathlessly.

His weight disappears and Steph barely has time to bemoan the lack of heat before he’s back, foil crinkling as he opens the condom. She reaches for it, smoothes it down over his cock but then Roman’s pushing her back again, throwing a leg over his shoulder and-

They both cry out but then he’s moving, hard, deep strokes that are just so _perfect._ “Roman,” she gasps into his shoulder, clutching at his back, his ass, whatever she can reach because it’s all too much.

“Steph, fuck, you’re-” His arms are corded with the effort of holding himself up but he reaches for one of her hands anyway, guides it between them. “One more,” he urges, his words punctuated by each thrust. “I want to see you come one more time, Steph.”

She opens her mouth but is cut off by his mouth opening over hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her fingers move of their own accord, circling over her clit, no teasing this time around. “Oh,” she breathes, arching into the sensation, heat uncoiling in her gut. “ _Roman._ ”

His rhythm goes erratic as she comes, clenching around him, shuddering beneath him. “Steph, _Steph_ ,” he groans against her lips, riding out the last few waves before collapsing over her.

One good thing about being a defenseman, she thinks dazedly, is that it’s not so bad when another one crashes down on top of you like this. She actually likes the weight of him over her, loves the feeling of him pressing her down into the mattress.

Of course that’s when he moves, stumbling to the bathroom. Steph blinks up at the ceiling, wondering if it’s time to make a break for it but then Roman’s back, condom disposed of and carrying a washcloth. He says nothing as he wipes her down and neither does she, even when he pulls the covers off and curls around her, pressing an absent kiss to her shoulder and closing his eyes.

She’s awake long after his breathing evens out, rolling onto her side to watch him, his face relaxed in repose and so achingly beautiful her breath catches in her throat. Her hand moves of its own accord, trailing softly along the line of his jaw and he shifts into the touch just the slightest bit, his lips curving up.

Here, like this, she can almost believe that he’s chosen her.

Her heart seizes in her chest, worse than any hit she’s ever endured on the ice. This was a mistake, the worst thing she could have possibly done. Because now she knows what it’s like for him to look at her like she’s the only thing he can see, to touch her like she’s something to be cherished. To see how his eyes turn gold, bright and shining when he breathes her name.

The knowledge of it all is terrible, because she’s seen it all and knows it’s not for her. Not really.

She’s never hated herself more, grasping for this...illusion. Bile rises in her throat but she chokes it down, rolling slowly off the bed and collecting her things as quietly as she can. All she can think about is getting out before she breaks completely.

She stumbles down the hall, vision going blurry with tears. It takes her four tries to get her door open and she almost trips over her own sneakers as she stumbles inside and reaches for her phone.

“Oh my God, do you have any clue what time it is?”

And Steph chokes, feels her whole body lurch with it, and bursts into tears.

She doesn’t hear Mike’ vicious cursing really. It registers in her brain as a kind of litany that sounds like Mike’ voice. It takes a while before Steph finally hears, “Honey, I need you to calm down and tell me where you are okay?”

“My hotel,” Steph manages around a sniffle. “M’safe.”

Mike blows out a breath. “Okay. But you’re not okay.”

Steph’s breath shudders. “I slept with him.”

It’s all she has to say. She knows it from the harsh gasp she hears on the other end of the line. “Jesus. Holy shit. _Steph_.”

And it sets her off again. She gives Mike’ the courtesy of burying her face in her pillow, even as she keeps the phone pressed to her ear. She hears some muffled murmuring, two voices, she thinks, then, “They’re in LA, shit. When is she back in Nashville?”

A low rumble answers that question and Steph squeezes her eyes shut. It’s bad enough that she’s woken Mike up with this (though, she knows for a fact Mike would have her head if she ever figured out Steph had sobbed out a broken heart alone) but she’s woken Tom up too. And Tom will ask questions.

“God, why are you on such a long road trip,” Mike finally says, a little clearer into the phone. “We’ve got a three day break while you’re in Colorado. Otherwise - dammit NHL.”

It takes Steph more than a beat to figure out what Mike is talking about. “No!”

“Steph, babe, you’re kind of a bit of a mess-”

“You’re not - no. Latts, please.”

Mike is clearly working herself into a fury. Her voice shakes as she says, “Don’t pull that begging crap with me. He messed you up, he knows how you feel about him and if you’re-”

“He doesn’t know I’ve left.”

“ _Steph_.”

She sniffles, rolls over to get away from the pillow that’s damp with her tears. “I left,” she says quietly. “He’s asleep. He doesn’t even know I’m gone. I can’t-”

“Okay,” Mike says immediately and Steph is endlessly grateful she doesn’t have to articulate how stupid she feels, how much she hates that she’d lied to herself. “But I’m still coming out to Nashville when you’re back.”

“ _No_.”

“Stephanie Jones, I swear to God-”

“You’ll make it worse,” Steph insists. “God, Latts, give it up. He’s not in love with me, he never will be and this was so, so, so _stupid_.”

“You’re not really convincing me I shouldn’t get on a plane right this second.”  

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m going to be.” Steph takes a deep breath, then a second one. She’s shoved this pain back before. She will do it again, and she can do it long enough to ensure Mike doesn’t climb on a plane. It helps that she wants to though. “Latts, I’m going to be fine.”

“God, I hate it when you pull this. But okay. I don’t like it, at all, but okay.”

“Okay.” The exhaustion is creeping in now, the game and Roman and her absolutely shattered heart.

“Honey, you’re going to hate yourself if you don’t take your eyeliner off,” Mike says gently. “Come on. Put me on speaker.”

So Mike hangs out while Steph washes her face and brushes her teeth, tells her useless stories of Ovi’s shenanigans and how she hates this stupid unpredictable weather, about her parents and her latest plan with Tom to dominate the Caps social media feeds for weeks.

“You getting into bed yet?” Mike finally asks, and she sounds like she’s holding back on a yawn.

Steph sighs and settles back in the covers, curls into the tightest ball she can manage. “Yeah.”

“Good. Close your eyes okay? I’m going to stay on the phone until you’re asleep.”

It doesn’t make it better, curled up alone in a hotel room, but at least having Mike on the other end, knowing that if Steph asked, she’d find some way to be there, makes Steph feel a little less alone.

 

The next afternoon, Steph waits until the last possible minute to drag her ass down to the hotel lobby and promptly ducks behind Peks, since he’s one of the few guys on the team she can actually use as a human shield. “Jonesy?” he inquires, trying to twist around to see her.

Steph buries her head in his back. “Tiiiiiiired,” she whines, feeling only slightly bad because she doesn’t pull the girl card, but there are several teammates who can get very big and overprotective when they think she needs coddling. Peks, she knows, will be a very good seatmate when she’s feeling like this.

“Too much partying last night?” he laughs sympathetically.

She winces. _You have no idea._ “I got my dance on.”

“Steph?”

Crap. Double crap. The very last person she wanted to see, and he’s standing right behind her. Thank the makeup gods for concealer though, because it certainly doesn’t look like she’s been crying her eyes out. “Sup,” she croaks, and is promptly cut off by the Starbucks cup that’s shoved beneath her nose.

“Drink,” he tells her, watching her like he’s...worried?

There are no words to describe how she feels when she lifts the cup to her lips. It’s a skinny, two-pump, extra hot hazelnut latte, just how she likes it. The thing that makes her eyes burn is the fact that he’s put whipped cream on top, just like she does when she’s having a bad day. And it is a bad day, a horrible day, in fact, but what does it mean that he’s acknowledging that too? Does he regret it? Steph briefly contemplates hurling the contents right in his face, but-

“Can we talk?” he asks her, quietly enough that Peks, who has not turned around but is very clearly eavesdropping, cannot hear.

“I don’t think-”

“Please, just let me-”

Nealer pops up out of nowhere and slings an arm around Roman’s shoulders. “Roman. Dude. Congratulations on scoring last night.”

All the blood drains from her face. Nealer _heard?_ And he’s congratulating - but no, he’s talking to Roman and not her, clearly he thinks Roman brought someone else back last night and why wouldn’t he? Why would anyone have cause to believe that she could actually be with him? Her grip tightens around her cup, causing hot coffee to spill out over her fingers. She gasps and Peks finally spins around, his face like a thundercloud, both understanding yet completely misreading the situation.

Roman steps forward, reaching out for her but Steph steps back, right into Peks, biting her lip to keep back tears, though she doesn’t know if it’s from the coffee or this goddamn farce. Nealer finally, _finally_ registers her presence and pales, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Sid’s going to _murder_ me.”

Peks’ hands close firmly around her shoulders. “Are you all right, Steph?”

Absolutely nothing is okay, but she’s not so melodramatic that she’s actually going to admit to it out loud, especially with Roman and Nealer standing right there. Roman actually looks a little stricken, like he’s hurt that she moved away from him. “I’m fine, Peks, just spilled some coffee.” Part of her wants to throw it away but the bigger part of her needs whatever small comfort she can get right now.

The staff starts herding them towards the bus and she allows Peks to lead her away, hovering at her side like a bodyguard. Webs eyebrows rise towards his hairline when he spots them, but Peks just shakes his head in a minute movement, warding him off for now.

 

Steph knows a lot about the Girl Code. Hell, she’s preached it’s merits to the roof on more than one occasion. Which is fine. It’s totally fine. But what it means is that when she’s back in Nashville (and maybe at her mom’s because she kind of can’t stand to be on her own right now) she has to stop avoiding Mike.

She’s been putting the other woman off with text messages and social media activity Steph is pretty sure all of the women are watching like hawks now. It’s not that Mike has a big mouth, but Steph’s not dumb enough to think that a post-sex-with-the-guy-she’s-in-love-with crying jag doesn’t warrant some sort of Girl Brigade news alert.

“Oh thank God. I was worried you were actually dumb and I was going to have to fly to Nashville after all. To kick your ass, just so we’re clear.”

Okay, yeah. That makes Steph feel like such a heel. “I’m sorry.”

The fight whooshes out of Mike on the next exhale. “I know.”

“It sucks,” Steph finally says after a moment. “Everything… Everything sucks.”

“Except hockey.”

Steph laughs awkwardly. “No, right now even that kind of sucks, too.”

“Ugh. Okay. Yeah. Can’t be great, losing like that.”

Steph very carefully doesn’t say anything that sounds remotely like ‘you get used to it’. The ongoing woes of the Predators isn’t why she’s on the phone with her best girlfriend right now, anyway. “I’m at my mom’s,” she says instead.

“After we spent all that time choosing those damn throw pillows?”

“They’re very nice throw pillows,” she agrees, because absolutely nothing in her place is from Ikea, and she’s kind of proud of that. Not that Mike really helped, per se, but she was there for opinions and emotional support.

“Don’t tell me. You’ve been helping her with the quilting.”

She glances down at the fabric on her lap. “It’s soothing!” Like cooking, there’s something soothing in the process, of making patterns and sewing the squares together. Steph has plenty of jerseys that she’s collected over the years, and not all of them can be framed. They do, however, make excellent quilts. Besides, she’s been working on Beckette’s Totoro quilt for too long, it needs to be finished. “Not like you can complain, since I made that one hockey quilt for your nephew.”

Mike makes a pleased noise. “He sleeps with it every night.”

“See?”

There’s a long pause. “So, have you talked to him?”

Steph nearly pricks herself with the needle and swears. “What is there to talk about?”

Mike sighs and honestly, how does she have the high ground in the situation? Granted, she and Tom seem to have sorted their shit but... “Talk to him.”

“No.” With the tree section finished, she lays it next to the sky section. Time to start on Totoro himself.

“God, Steph, you can’t hide from this forever. If he wants to talk to you, give him the chance.”

“Why?” Steph demands. “So he can let me down again? So he can reject me?”

“You don’t know that.”

“It’s already happened. And it’s my fault this is weird, okay? I know that. I know I’m the one messing up here and I can _fix it_.”

“Babe, I’m not sure you can.”

Screw Mike. Screw her and her happy thing with Tom when she’s over here _drowning_ because she can’t get her shit together. But she will. She always does. She can do better. She will not mess up this team, she’d promised. She’d sworn to them she wouldn’t mess everything up and she will keep that promise if it kills her.

She’s not convinced it won’t.

 

Webs hits the boards with a sickening _crunch_ and the entire bench is on their feet. Roman’s shoving at Bobby Ryan with hate in his eyes, but the refs are right there, pushing them apart as the trainers run onto the ice.

The arena goes silent and she hates moments like these. There should always be noise, the scrape of blades against the ice, the staccato snap of a stick against a puck, the shouts of the team and the screams of the crowd. No, she hates the absence of those sounds because it means something’s gone horribly wrong.

It’s the 2015 playoffs all over again, watching as her captain is taken off the ice and knowing that they have to step up.

Laviolette’s hand drops to her shoulder. “Jonesy, you’re with Yoss, you got that?”

Steph glances over, meets Roman’s eyes. He nods at her, short and sharp, and she nods back. It doesn’t matter if she screwed up - none of those things come out with her on the ice. Out there, it’s just hockey.

There’s always a bit of an adjustment when you’re playing with a new partner. You get to know all the intricacies of their play, from shot positioning to stickhandling and most of all, the way they move across the ice. And even though they’ve played as a pair before, there’s still an adjustment period. A few missed passes, a few misreads, but it’s nothing serious and the Senators have no unease to capitalize on. In fact, the team is absolutely vicious in the loss of their captain, and they scrape by with the win, 4-2.

That’s only the beginning, though, because then they find out Webs is going to be out for at least three to four weeks for his injury. Steph finds out from Webs himself, when they’re back in Nashville and she comes over for lunch.

“I’m not worried about you playing on the top pair,” Webs tells her as they’re sitting at his kitchen table. Dug is spread over her feet, waiting hopefully for some scrap or tidbit. “You were amazing last year in the playoffs, and there aren’t many rookies who would handle themselves as well as you did when you played with me your first year.”

She snorts. “I was terrified.” Sure, she’d wanted to show off, to show Nashville that they’d made the right choice not only in drafting her but not sending her down. That didn’t mean she was comfortable facing down the top lines of the NHL, even with Webs at her side.

“Look kid, you’ve never needed any of us to tell you how good you are out there. So again, I’m not worried about how you’ll do.”

“But you’re worried about something,” Steph sighs. And judging by his expression, it’s not going to be something she likes. “This is about Roman, isn’t it?”

Webs shrugs, pops a piece of chicken in his mouth. “I don’t know, is it? But you two have been acting a little weird since the beginning of the season. It hasn’t affected anything on the ice so far as I can tell, but then again you two haven’t played as a pair until now, and will be playing together until I get back or if something goes FUBAR.”

Dug nudges his nose against her knee, whining a little. Her free hand drops to his head to pet him, soothing him and much as herself with the gesture. Only Filip and Elly know that Roman knows, but it’s about time she told Webs, too. So she does, telling him the whole thing, even a vastly edited version of the night in LA.

By the time she’s finished, Webs is a little red and looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Okay, I’m not sure I really needed to know that last part-”

“Webs, you’re _married_ ,” she cuts in, exasperated.

“-but okay, fine.” He takes a deep breath. “Is it going to be a problem, Steph?”

“No,” she says firmly. “I’m serious,” she insists when he continues to frown. “Webs. I will not allow it to be a problem, okay? That was just me, getting him out of my system since, you know.”

He shakes his head. “Okay, but as a married man, I think you two need to talk it over. A little bit of communication goes a long way.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re past communication,” she mutters under her breath. The thought of actually allowing Roman to corner her makes her feel physically ill. “It’ll be fine, Webs. I promise.”

He doesn’t seem entirely convinced but acquiesces anyway, turning back to his food. “But you’ll tell me if there are any problems, and I mean _any_ , from here on out, okay?”

She flashes him a thumbs up and digs back into her food. Bailey comes in with Beckette toddling behind her. Beckette squeals when he sees Steph, immediately scrambling for her lap. “Well, that solves that,” Bailey laughs. “Can you watch him for a little while, Steph? I have to run some errands before the big guy over there eats us out of hearth and home.” Webs makes a wounded sound. Bailey just grins, presses a kiss to his cheek, and sails out through the garage.

“Got to make sure you don’t run all over Papa, make his injury worse, huh?” Steph asks Beckette, bouncing him on her knee. He lets out a stream of noise that is possibly a sentence, with something that sounds like “Steph” in there. “You said it, buddy.” His chubby little fingers curl around her watch and she eats while he distracts himself.

“You’re going to spoil him,” Webs tells her later as he loads the dishwasher. She has Beckette on her hip, continually bouncing him up and down because his giggles when she does so are so damn cute.

“Well duh, I’m the cool aunt,” she snorts. Besides, it’s not like he’s heavy.

The doorbell rings and Dug and Rod lunge for the door, barking their heads off. Steph waves Webs off and makes her way over, trying to negotiate the toddler’s excitement at the dogs’ antics. “Come on guys, let me open it, all right? Cool your jets.”

“‘Man!” Beckette cries when the door swings open and thank goodness for Dug and Rod because while he’s distracted by trying not to be bowled over, she can school her face into something resembling neutrality. Webs is going to _die_ , she thinks darkly.

Roman’s face contorts oddly when he finally straightens up and spots her with Beckette. It’s a little like he’s bracing himself for a hit, actually. “Hey B, hey Steph,” he says, stepping into the house. “I’m here to walk Dug and Rod.”

“Walk!” Beckette repeats, squirming in Steph’s arms like he wants to go down. The moment his feet touch the ground he attempts to bolt for the door but luckily toddler legs are short and there are dogs in the way.

“Now that sounds like a good idea,” Webs says from behind Steph, holding the dogs’ leads. “You can all go for a walk and I can go lie down in a dark room.”

“Like a coffin?” Steph asks sweetly, pasting a smile on her face so that Beckette is none the wiser. Webs, to his credit, looks slightly abashed but holds his ground, handing the leads over to Roman and digging in the coat closet for Beckett’s jacket. He grabs Steph’s coat too, because Nashville winters are actually cold and Steph still complains about that itty bitty fact because she’s a Texas girl, okay? “Just around the block,” she allows, resigned. “I’m not going to be the one suffering Bailey’s wrath if your son comes down with a cold.”

She sets Beckette down, trades her hold on the kid for her coat. She slides it over her shoulders as she watches Roman murmur to Beckette to keep him occupied while they zip up his coat, tucking his hands into the mittens attached to the sleeves. Webs hands Steph Beckette’s hat and she makes faces at the toddler as she pulls it over his ears.

She forces herself to ignore the awkward murmuring between Roman and Webs, in favor of watching Beckette stomp around the carpet, Dug and Rod nudging around, knocking him off balance a little. Beckette doesn’t seem to mind, just giggles, pats at their noses and babbles away.

“Alright, buddy,” Webs finally says wading into the dogs to get at Beckette. “Be good, okay? Steph’s going to bring you home if you can’t behave.”

Beckette’s face is adorably serious as he presses his palms to his dad’s cheeks. He says something in rapid baby and Webs nods seriously back. “Exactly. Be good.”

Then Steph’s got her arms filled with a little Weber and Roman’s watching with a look Steph refuses to pick apart. Sure, she knows he wants this someday, but today is not that day and she’s not convinced tomorrow will be either; certainly not with her. She shoves the thought forcefully from her head and pastes on a bright grin.

“We’ll be back.”

The worst part about stepping out into the Nashville night is the eager look on Roman’s face as they fall into step together, Beckette still in Steph’s arms. The dogs yank at Roman, dragging him down the driveway before Steph’s even made it down the steps. Before she can even breathe a sigh of relief the dogs are dragging him back towards her and Beckette is squirming to be let down. It must be a routine of theirs, she realizes, Webs and Bailey, Beckette and the dogs.

And now Webs has forced them into the same little mold but it’s wrong, all wrong. Steph wants to throw up. This kind of domestic scene has no place in her life right now. “Dug, Rod, no, _off_ ,” she scolds, kneeling down as the two nose around her and Beckette. The toddler squeaks happily, reaching for them and falling back against her knees as the dogs return the favor, whacking at her with their tails.

“Dug! Rod!” Beckette says clearly.

“You got that right, bud,” she says. Dug licks at her face and Beckette throws his arms around her neck, trying to press a sloppy kiss of his own at her.

“You’re going to make a great mom someday,” Roman comments from above her and Steph freezes. He couldn’t have said something more hurtful to her if he tried, and it takes everything in her not to scoop Beckette up and hightail it back to the house.

“Yeah, well. Hockey first.” She won’t look up, she refuses to look up because if she does she knows she’ll break. His voice is so soft and affectionate and it means absolutely nothing. It can’t.

Headlights shine and Bailey pulls into the driveway, provoking another round of barking and pulling from the dogs. Steph heaves a sigh of relief and hefts Beckette up again, standing up as Bailey and Roman walk over.

“Now, what is this?” Bailey laughs. “Don’t tell me Shea just left you guys with this.”

“He definitely did,” Roman snorts, twisting around because the dogs have somehow tangled him in their leads. Steph looks at Bailey, gives her the wide-eyed look universal to women everywhere: _get me out of here_.

The older woman’s eyebrows shoot up but she reaches for her son anyway. “Steph, I can’t believe Shea roped you into this when he knows you had somewhere to be.” Her tone is affectionately scolding. “You know you can say no to him, captain or not. Go, say hi to your mom for me.”

Her shoulders slump with relief. Thank god for the Girl Code. “Thanks Bailey, now I won’t have to explain why I’m late,” she laughs, handing Beckette over and waving awkwardly at Roman. “See you at practice later, Roman.”

It’s a little embarrassing, how quickly she books it out of there, but she doesn’t care. And if she has wonderfully painful dreams that night about a little boy with her ears and Roman’s eyes, rolling around on the floor with two dogs, she doesn’t have to tell anyone.

 

The thing is, being Roman’s partner is easier said than done. They’re currently straddling this strange line of knowing each other almost too well, or not well enough. Part of it is the nature of the job, since d men don’t get switched around nearly as often as forwards. For the most part, Steph’s played with either Elly or Eky.

Roman’s simply...on another level. He’s so cerebral in his play, the perfect foil to Webs’ physicality, knowing just when to stop the opposing team’s rush and having a second sense for when he needs to enter the play and make a spectacular goal.

Steph plays the same way, except from the right side instead of the left. She’s had to adjust her play in that way because while she has the height, she doesn’t have the muscle that some of the other women in the NHL can boast. And while she’s worked to make her slapshot as accurate as hell, it’ll never, ever be a cannon. But she wasn’t a projected first overall pick for nothing - she plays smart, she plays fast, and she always, always plays to win.

She proves herself on the top line in a game against Colorado. Perhaps it’s petty, but she always relishes her wins against that team and likes showing them what they’ve missed. It’s not like she resents Nate - he’s become a good friend and he’s pretty much an overgrown puppy. But she really, really likes beating his team.

The play is moving towards their zone and she’s skating backwards, eyes peeled for the pass she knows is coming-

 _There._ Landeskog passes it towards Nate, who’s between Steph and the boards, and she nabs the puck, taking off towards the other end of the ice. The play is crystal clear in her head, draw Varlamov out towards her, fake the shot, move the play laterally into the open space on either side of the goalie

She winds up, calculates, then passes to her right, to Roman, who’s put himself in one of those patches of free ice, well ahead of Colorado’s d men. The net is wide open.

“Steph!” He nearly squeezes the breath out of her, grabbing her for the celly. “Fucking beautiful play!” he bellows in her ear, clutching her tight for what feels like forever.

Colorado trails them by one for the entire game, but they battle through anyway, always searching for that next goal because you never know when the tide is going to turn against you.

That’s not in the cards for this game, because Fishy steals the puck in their own zone, allowing Roman to scoop it up and fly down the ice. Steph follows, using every bit of speed she has even though her legs are burning, even though she’s been on the ice for twenty-six minutes tonight and she feels every single one of them. She’ll be there to take the rebound-

-but Roman fakes the shot and instead passes back to her. The puck flies off her backhand, ricocheting off the crossbar and into the back of the net.

She’s so relieved, so blindingly happy with the goal that she leaps up into Roman’s arms, laughing out loud as he spins her around the ice. “You idiot, you had that!” she shouts, grinning as he sets her back down on her skates.

“Nah, that goal had your name all over it,” he replies easily, his eyes shifting from green to gold as he smiles down at her.

“Come on lovebirds, there’s still three minutes left in the period,” Fishy chirps, circling by with a shit-eating grin. Her cheeks burn when she realizes that Roman still has his hands on her waist and she’s grinning up at him like an idiot. In the Pepsi Center. On national television. Dammit. And she’s going to have to face all the knowing expressions on the bench, too.

What a situation, Steph thinks, resigned and slightly amused. “Thanks for the assist,” she says with an awkward pat to his shoulder, and takes off for the usual celebratory glove-taps from the rest of the team.

“He’s always looking at you, you know,” Elly tells her in a low voice as he hops over the bench.

She shrugs. “Looking doesn’t mean anything.”

But there’s a bar of Olive & Sinclair Cinnamon Chili sitting on her shelf after she showers and she frowns because while the team knows she has a weakness for just about everything they make, the Cinnamon Chili is her absolute favorite.

Elly comes up behind her, already back in his suit. “I suppose that doesn’t mean anything, either?” he asks pointedly.

“What do you mean?” she begins, but at that moment Roman walks back in too. He catches sight of her holding the bar, and the smile he sends her is almost hopeful.

The scene is of course broken when Nate pokes his head in the locker room. “Buddies! Are we heading out?”

Steph asks for a rain check, rolling her eyes at Nate’s exaggerated disappointment. She really doesn’t feel like going out, not since LA. And if Roman’s gaze lingers on her a little too long as he follows after Nate, well. That’s not her problem.

 

They finally, _finally_ head back to Nashville and Steph is so glad to be home that she wholeheartedly agrees to go out with the team after they squeak out a home win against Winnipeg. She’s been doing well, she thinks, avoiding Roman and the way her head and her heart keep feeling like a giant mess when he’s around. When it’s all the guys though, she can ignore it and force herself to have fun.

Which is exactly what she’s doing when she hits the bar again, her glass woefully empty.

“Can I buy you one?”

She tenses out of reflex and hates herself, the way she always does these days when he offers to do something as simple as carry her gear, let alone buy her a drink. “S’okay,” she says.

“Jonesy-” He clears his throat. “Steph, look, can we-”

“Well hi.”

She’s so glad she hadn’t so much as turned from the bar, doesn’t have to look at what kind of woman has drawn his attention now. He’s patently unable to ignore people who say ‘hello’. The bartender saves her then, slides her beer across the bar to her. She offers him the best smile she can muster then heads back to the guys, leaving Roman at the bar with the woman who will likely be another notch on his bedpost.

Elly is right there for her, carving out space for her on the bench, but Steph can feel the way her stomach is twisting, the way she wants to look back at Roman. It will do her no good to do so, she knows. It’s of no use. He doesn’t want her.

“Whoa.”

Webs catches her when she almost stumbles into the table, quickly takes her beer from her. Steph tries to breathe. She really can’t.  

“Okay. Okay, kid. Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

Steph tries to shake her head, but she can’t focus on the team through the haze of tears. God, she’s better than this. She’s done so well for so long. “No.”

But Webs isn’t giving her a chance. He frog marches her out, his grip tight around her wrist. She’s never felt more like a child in her life and the humiliation is sharp and stinging but it’s all she can do to just hold it together. She has never cried in front of Webs and she doesn’t intend to start now.

“Your place or your mom’s?”

Of course he’s noticed that she’s been spending more time at her mom’s place. That or Elly’s spilled the beans.

There’s a quiet crunch of leather on the steering wheel, but Steph doesn’t open her eyes, let alone pull her head away from the cool glass of the window.

“He hasn’t picked up in ages,” he tells her softly.

Steph scoffs. “He does it without trying. I’m not sure he knows how to stop.”

“Steph.”

She bites her lip against the disbelieving sound that’s crawling up her throat. It’s of no use. She hates how the guys feel like they have to keep her together. This is her problem. She created it. It shouldn’t bleed over to them.

She’s grateful when he doesn’t push her, when he lets her mope in the passenger’s seat in peace. They pull into her mom’s driveway, the house all dark except that one light in the living room her mom keeps on a timer.

“Hey,” he tells her as she climbs out. “It’s going to be okay, kid.”

She gives him a nod she doesn’t mean, is endlessly grateful when he doesn’t call her on it.

Her pre-bed routine is hard when all she wants to do is curl up and cry but Steph forces herself through it. She has a shower because she’s not drunk enough to pass out smelling like a bar, brushes her teeth, pulls her hair into a bun. Her pajamas are next and it takes her three tries to step into the pants through the blur of her tears.

She curls up under her covers into the smallest ball her body will accommodate. Her stomach hurts, her eyes are burning. She’s never felt like the world was ending, not like this. It sucks not to get a goal when she’s worked so hard for it, it sucks when they don’t make the playoffs, but she’s not sure anything has ever sucked as much as this.

She’s never going to be able to put it behind her. That’s what she’s learned over the last couple of months. There’s no amount of emotion she can shove into her workouts, into her games, no quantitative or qualitative time she can spend with her mother, on the phone to the Girl Brigade, that’s going to make this hurt less.

She rolls into her pillow to scream, lets the tears come in ugly streams as she sobs into the cotton. She can’t keep doing this, can’t hold it in any longer. She’s not even sure she can stay here. How is she going to look at him at practice knowing that she’d been right there, that he knows how she feels and still went home with someone else? She’d known he’d never return her feelings, that it was impossible to so much as hope, but knowing it, seeing it...well, that’s different.

And it leaves her with one choice, one nuclear option: she has to request a trade.

It hits her all at once, the freight train of her terrible decision, of what happens when she lets her guard down and ruins all the good things in her life. Like the Preds, because she can’t keep her damn feelings under control and the last thing she’s going to do is be that woman.

But a trade is a choice she can make.

She snuffles once more, wipes her nose on the back of her hand because she doesn’t care. Then she rolls off her tear-stained pillow and onto the clean, dry one. Sleep first and in the morning she’ll rip her heart out and leave it behind in Nashville.

 

But the hockey gods are fickle and the decision is taken out of her hands. Poile calls her in the next morning and it’s all just a string of platitudes but the takeaway message is clear: Steph is getting her trade without even asking. She’s going to Columbus in exchange for Ryan Johansen. The Blue Jackets want her right away and there’s a flight waiting for her at 4:00. She plays in a matter of days.

“We’re sorry to see you go, Steph,” Poile tells her. “But I think you’ll be a good fit there.”

The first thing she does on the drive home is call Webs. “I’ve been traded,” she says. “Columbus. I fly out tonight.”

He inhales sharply. “Is it because-”

“No. God no, I don’t think they had any idea.” Steph laughs a little bitterly. “But they have their first line center now. It’s okay, Webs. It’s for the best. Everything was getting a little out of control anyway.”

He makes another sound, like he doesn’t believe her but doesn’t press. “Good luck out there, kid. At least there’s no one holding you back there. You’ll be their top blueliner for sure.”

And now he’s going to make her cry. As a rookie, she couldn’t have asked for a better mentor or captain. Everyone on the team jokes about her being like Webs’ daughter, and while they’re a little too close in age for that to be true, he’s always led by example. “Shut up, you’ve never held me back, Webs. I’ve learned a hell of a lot from you.”

“Hell, kid.” Webs sounds like _he’s_ on the verge of tears, too. “We’ll miss you. You better not forget us.”

“As if I could.”

The next call she makes is to her mom, who comes running into her apartment as she stares at her suitcases and duffel bags. “Oh honey,” Amy says, trying her level best to scoop Steph up in her arms but that hasn’t been possible, the last few years. Steph goes anyway, burying her head in her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Mom.” She won’t cry - not yet, at least. “Hey, look at it this way, you can move back in with Daddy because you’ll be right next door, right?”

“That’s not what matters,” she scolds, framing her face in her hands. “What matters is how you feel.”

She shrugs. “It’s hockey. It happens.”

“And everything with-?”

There’s packing to do. She throws in everything that doesn’t have a Preds logo, she doesn’t think she can stand to wear one right now without breaking her heart. “Well, that’s taken care of now, isn’t it?” she asks briskly, reaching into another drawer for her passport. The e-ticket is in her e-mail, Poile told her.

“Sweetie, you know it’s not that simple.”

It will be, Steph tells herself. It has to be.

In an absolutely surreal moment, Steph meets Johansen coming out of the gate at the airport. “Hey man,” she greets him easily, holding out her hand. “You’re going to love it here.”

“Thanks, Jones,” he says sincerely and boy, are the guys going to give him such crap over that mullet. “They’re fucking lucky to have you, you know.”

She smiles a little bit. “They are.” And because she thought about it already, she hands over her keys and the slip of paper with her address and phone number. “In case you don’t want the hotel. Use it for as long as you need.”

His eyes widen. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, my mom and I cleaned it up, and there’s a spare room. She has her own set of keys so you don’t have to worry about me. Hell, let me know if you want the place.”

“That’s a real beauty move, Jones,” he says admiringly, moving in for the hug this time. “What a welcome to Nashville. You’ll probably get a few offers yourself, once you get to Columbus. Saader’s probably cleaning out his spare room as we speak.”

It’s not the worst offer. Saader was a good captain at the World Cup and has been a buddy for years. At least she’s not going to a team where she doesn’t know anyone.

Still, she sheds a few tears when she gets off the plane in Columbus and sees the sheer number of messages and voicemails she has on her phone. At least twenty of them are from Filip, mostly along the lines of _WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY GOODBYEEEEEE._ The Girl Brigade group chat is all lit up as well, and she has at least five missed calls from Mike, even one from Jack.

Saader’s waiting for her when she exits security. “Jonesy!” he laughs, opening his arms wide. She laughs, and if it’s more than a little watery he ignores it, folding her into his embrace. “You’re staying with me, no arguments okay? At least until you decide if you want a place of your own.”

“Deal.” It would be nice to just sulk on her own, but even she’s cognizant enough to know that’s not what she needs right now. What she needs to do is get into the swing of things and Saader’s apparently up for the job, happily gossiping about what their World Cup teammates have been up to during the season and telling her what to expect from CBJ.

Johansen wasn’t kidding about offers. The next day at practice, the guys give her about the warmest welcome a person could ask for, complete with cake (she spots the strength and conditioning coach very firmly looking in the opposite direction). Both Fligs and Johnson are visibly disappointed that she’s currently staying with Saader, and make it very clear that she’s more than welcome at either of their places. Saader pulls sad faces at her in the background, and she leaves practice feeling a little better about everything.

Her phone rings back at Saader’s place, and he glances curiously at her as it continues to ring. “Shouldn’t you get that?”

“Nope,” she says as nonchalantly as possible. He slings her a disbelieving look as he starts prepping food for lunch, and honestly, damn those captainly instincts.

“Is it someone back in Nashville?”

“Possibly,” Steph admits, coming over to help him, because her mother didn’t raise a heathen, thank you very much. She needs something to do with her hands and she doesn’t know what she’s going to do with all this free time since she doesn’t play for another day. Honestly, she’s probably going to go crazy in the interim because-

Her phone blips. Voicemail.

Should she feel bad about freezing Roman out when she’s responded to everyone else? She should, and she does, but how is she supposed to start over when she’s hanging on to the ghost of everything that could have been?

His absence is like a physical hole in her heart, but better that, she reasons, than to try and convince herself that she’s not in love with him when she’s faced with him every single day. This kind of pain has a better chance of healing. After all, this is a clean start. She puts down her knife. “I need a haircut,” she announces.

Saader looks at her like she’s grown a second head. “Your hair looks fine.”

“No, I’m serious. New city, new hairstyle.” Maybe what she needs is some sort of drastic change. She’s already reaching for her phone and Googling nearby salons. “You should come with me, I have no idea where any of these places are.”

“This is like one of those montages in a chick flick, isn’t it? Where they have an epiphany and get a makeover and go shopping?” he asks suspiciously.

He looks so adorably bewildered that Steph bursts out laughing for what seems like the first time in over 48 hours. She braces herself against the counter, laughing until her sides ache, and when she finally looks up Saader is beaming. “Man, I needed that,” she snorts, wiping at her eyes. “You watch a lot of chick flicks, Saader?”

“I watch some with my girlfriend,” he admits, blushing.

“Whatever, you like them too.” She bookmarks a promising one then gets back to chopping. “It’s settled then. We’ll eat, then you’re coming with me.”

“Sure. Just to make sure you don’t get lost. I heard all about that orienteering thing you guys did during training camp.” He dodges a piece of carrot, snickering.

“It’s all a vicious lie,” she sniffs, then grins. She’s going to like living with Saader. Maybe Columbus is exactly what she needs.

 

“Are you hanging out with Eichs?” Saader asks her once the media clear the room.

“Yeah, we’re having dinner. And no, you’re not invited.”

He pouts at her. “Not cool, Jonesy. I wanted to hang out with my Team North America buddies.”

She throws a roll of tape at him. “Calm down, Saader, I never said anything about after dinner, okay? We can meet up for drinks and you can relive your glory days as Captain North America.”

“You are such a shit,” he mutters, but he’s grinning. “Just text me, then.”

It’s a little strange to walk over to the visitor’s side of Nationwide Arena. It’s not home to her, not yet, though she’s definitely grown to appreciate that cannon.

“That cannon’s a fucking menace,” Jack growls as she approaches, making her laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually like that thing.”

She grabs her in a hug. “Now I do. Come on. I’m starving.”

Most of dinner consists of good-natured chirping and discussions of Jack’s shenanigans with the Buffalo Beauts (“they’re so fucking awesome, it’s like having a team of big sisters right in the city” and Steph is not jealous, she’s not), but halfway through their steaks, Jack puts her cutlery down and clears her throat. “So. I know you said no going after your boy-”

“Not my boy,” Steph says, swallowing down the lump in her throat. Mike had definitely spilled the beans and it had fallen to Steph to put out the sisterhood-wide call _not_ to go after Roman. She should have known this amount of quiet from them was suspicious. With a sense of foreboding, she asks, “What did you do?”

Jack shrugs. “I might have been a little mean.”

“Is this why Filip texted me saying that you were terrifying?” She’d shrugged it off at the time, knowing that Buffalo had run roughshod over her former team during the game. Jack really is a terrifying player, in the best possible way. She’s just so powerful and dynamic on the ice that it’s hard to keep up with her.

“Look, I just let him know what I thought of him, I didn’t actually _do_ anything.” She resumes eating. “If it messed him up, that’s on him.”

Steph eyes her suspiciously. She has a feeling there is more to the story but honestly, she really doesn’t want to know. “So long as no one was actually hurt and you weren’t spending time in the box over it,” she says cautiously.

“Scout’s honor. Steph, all my checks were perfectly legal.” Steph believes her. but that’s just Jack. With her, what you see is definitely what you get. “Look, I just couldn’t let it lie, okay, not when I figured out that he’s the whole damn reason you’ve been so sad.”

There’s really nothing she can say to that, because it’s the truth, but that’s on her as much as it is on him. “Aw Jack, you really do care,” she teases gently.

Jack’s expression is constipated. “Fuck off, Steph,” she mutters, turning red around the edges. Jack versus non-hockey related emotions is always the most hilarious thing. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

Steph just barely resists the urge to reach over and muss her hair. At least she has her girls, and at least she has hockey. It’s enough, she tells herself. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“By the way, your haircut is fucking awesome.”

She runs a hand over the edgy pixie, with its closely shaved sides and longer pieces on top.  “Yeah? It kind of freaked me out at first, but it’s growing on me.” The salon owner had turned out to be a CBJ fan and cut her hair herself. She’d even let Saader sit in the next salon chair, metaphorically (and sometimes literally) holding Steph’s hand as her hair got shorter and shorter.

“Seriously. I would look like a Q-Tip if I tried that.”

“Nah,” Steph says though she is laughing. All that blonde, curly hair? It would definitely be a look, for sure. “You could pull it off.”

Jack points her fork at her across the table. “Fuck you, very much. Anyway. I figured I should warn you. I didn’t break the rules.”

Steph blows out a heavy sigh, rolls a pea around on her plate a bit before squishing it beneath her fork. “It’s okay. It’s done. New city, new Steph.”

“Fucking right,” Jack says, toasting her with her water glass. “To new Steph.”

 

The phone wakes her up an hour before her alarm and she groans as she rolls over. Waking up early is not on the agenda, that was the whole reason for skipping today’s optional skate. “‘Lo?”

“Hey.”

Roman.

She blinks for a moment. “Hi.”

There’s a sound she doesn’t understand on the other end. “Can we talk?”

She has to work hard not to just turn over and bury her face in her pillow. “Roman-”

Then the doorbell sounds. It’s been happening for what feels like forever, new teammates dropping by to say hello. She’s grateful in a way because it’s nice to feel welcome, but she just wants to get that extra hour. She really does. She’s exhausted.

“Hang on.”  

She glances through the peephole and goes stiff. “What the hell? Roman, what the hell?”

“Open the door.”

She goes still. “No.”

“Steph. We need to talk. Open the door.”

Steph can’t say no.

She wrenches open the door with a glare. He’s so awkward on the other side of it. It feels like confirmation that this isn’t going to go her way, not that it’s anything new. She’s not sure she has the strength for this.

Roman takes her in, really takes her in, and his eyes widen. “You cut your hair.”

She just barely tamps down the urge to run her hands through her hair because it probably looks ridiculous right now. “Yup.”

His fingers twitch, like he wants to touch, but he gestures towards the hallway instead. “Can I-?”

She turns and leaves the door open, pads back to the kitchen for coffee, sees the note Saader’s left her about smoothies and breakfast.

“Look, I-” he starts, but Steph raises a hand, puffs out a breath.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know I made you a promise and I know I was not living up to my end of it. Not in Nashville.”

He looks like her words hurt. “Jonesy that’s - I’m not upset about that.”

She doesn’t believe him, not even a little bit. She chews on her lip and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got it covered. I’ve figured it out.”

He goes so, so still. “Steph, did you ask for a trade? Because of us?”

“No,” she says immediately, a little bitterly. “I thought about it. I was going to. It just…” She shrugs. She can’t explain how perfect the timing had been without inflicting damage he doesn’t deserve. It’s her problem. It’s her fault she couldn’t handle being around him and not have him.

He swears, reaches for her, but she steps back, hands up. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

Her head snaps up, eyes flying to his. He looks determined and certain and she’d been so stupid to think she could just… convince herself that she wasn’t in love with him, that being traded away to Columbus would somehow make it all go away. How could she believe it when she can’t look at that face without thinking of the way he’d looked between her splayed thighs, the way he’d felt above her, around her, _in her_.

“Roman.” She knows she sounds tired, she sounds resigned and despondent. “It’s fine, okay? I just… I thought I could do it. And I couldn’t. And that’s my fault, it’s not on you and I-”

This time she really is choking. She can’t talk or breathe and she can barely see through the mess of tears and jesus.

He reaches for her, fingers stroking so so carefully over her cheek. “You’re still in love with me.” He sounds a little wondering, a little triumphant.

Her eyes slam closed. Everything hurts. _Everything_. She can’t do this, can’t face this again. It’s hard enough not to read into the fact that he’s here, that he’s flown to Columbus to have this conversation, without giving him the opportunity to break her heart again.

“Steph.”

She forces herself to look at him and when she does, she can’t look away. His palm slides around her cheek, over her jaw until he’s got his fingers spread across the back of her neck. He leans in and presses his forehead against hers. She hiccups.

“Please,” she whispers. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be. It already hurts.”

His breath shudders and his hand tightens. “Fuck, Steph. I hate that you’re here.”

Then he’s angling her head, tilting it back and his mouth is on hers, so gentle but so sure. She lifts her hands, presses them to his chest and pushes. He steps back and his face a mess, like he’s the one with a broken heart.

“You can’t,” she sniffles. “You can’t. Because I can’t say no to you and that’s not fair-”

“Jesus, Steph, shut up. Just shut the fuck up.”

She does on reflex. He sounds so upset with her, so angry. This time he takes her mouth, nothing gentle, nothing apologetic. Her breath shudders out but she opens beneath him, her hand clenching in his shirt. It’s the last one, she promises herself, the last time she’s going to let him do this. She’s going to break away, to step back and say goodbye and ask him to leave.

Steph’s preparing herself for it, tensing for it, when he breaks the kiss and holds her still, tight.

“I didn’t know you were an option.” He curses under his breath in German. “No, that sounded wrong. I mean...I mean I never thought about you that way because you were my teammate. My Jonesy.”

She shivers.

“And I’ve been _trying_. Trying to get you alone, to talk to you about this because for fuck’s sake Steph, you have to know you’re amazing.”

Her mouth shakes as she tries to smile, regardless of how terrible it looks. She knows it does, because he makes a noise like she’s winded him. She _is_ amazing. She’ll _always_ be amazing. Just not amazing enough for him.

“Stop it, please,” he begs. “I can see you pulling away from me and just _listen_ . I never thought about you that way but then everything came out and I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it.”

She closes her eyes again because that feels worse. It feels so much worse to think that she’s…he sounds like he’s about to tell her he loves her too, and she’s not sure she can believe that. “Roman-”

“No. Steph, no you are going to _listen_ to me and you’re going to hear me, got it?”

Her eyes stay closed, even when he reaches out, when his hand wraps around her upper arm, slides up to rest on her shoulder. She can feel him step into her, uncertain but warm and she clenches her hands into fists at her side.

“We’re already great together. On the ice, off the ice, I mean fuck, when Webs was out the way you stepped up was amazing, like we all knew you would. You showed everyone that you’re meant to be there, right at the top.”

Which is why this trade might not be so bad, beyond the obvious leaving behind everything she knew thing. She received a number of offer sheets last year when she entered free agency, but had barely looked any of them over because she wanted Nashville.

Still, being good enough to play on the top pairing is not enough to stay.

“And that’s not what you need to hear.” Steph’s eyes fly open and she looks up, startled, and Roman chuckles a little ruefully. “I could talk about your hockey all day, but that’s not why I came.”

No, she doesn’t want it to happen. Not like this. The words he’s bracing himself to say are ones she would have given anything to hear, but not now, not when it seems like nothing more than a desperate bid to not leave things broken between them. If he says those words there’s a chance she might break, might believe him and then where will she be? “Roman, please.” Her voice comes out tired, resigned. “I don’t want you telling me things you think I want to hear-”

He inhales sharply. “Steph, _no_.” And he sounds so hurt, so wounded. “Have I ever given you reason to believe that I would lie to you about something like this? Something this big? I would never do that to you. Steph, I just...I know I’ve been blind. I’ve realized it, the team’s told me hundreds of times, hell, it feels like the whole league is telling me too and I’m trying not to be a bigger idiot now.”

His hands are gentle on her face, tipping it up so she’ll look at him and Steph allows him because despite everything, she wants to hope. Hope and belief are such small and fragile things and she thought they’d been crushed by months of misery and awkwardness and bad decisions but here she is, her heart pounding in her chest because his eyes are pure gold as he looks down at her. “What are you trying to say?”

“That I hate going a day without seeing you smile. That whenever I see something interesting, or funny, or dumb you’re the first person I want to share it with.That I just always want to be around you.” Her eyes spill over and Roman doesn’t even hesitate, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs and ducking his head to kiss them away. “I’ve dreamt of you,” he confesses, his voice going husky and low. “The way you kiss, the shape of your shoulders, the feel of your skin beneath my hands.”

Steph stifles a gasp at that but the sound still escapes and Roman groans at the sound, closing his eyes briefly. He’s so close she can feel the flutter of them against her forehead.

“A few months ago, you told me you loved me. I couldn’t say anything then, but I’ve thought about them every day since. Wondering. And Steph, believe me…”

Her eyes have drifted closed but they open again when he pauses. “What?” she ventures, almost unable to believe but hoping, hoping with everything she has…

His smile lights everything up, chasing away all the shadows that have haunted her over the last few months. “You’ve had me for longer than you’ve ever known, than _I’ve_ ever known. Steph, I love you too.”

She exhales sharply, her head falling forward to his shoulder again. She wants to laugh and she wants to cry. She wants to run and she wants to cling close and never let him go. He releases a pained noise and hauls her closer, wraps his arms around her, steadfast and _there_. He’s murmuring into the side of her head, his lips moving against her hair. She can’t make out a single damn word, isn’t even sure it’s English, but his voice is warm and rich, threaded through with the words she hadn’t been sure she’d ever hear.

It only lasts a moment before he’s got his mouth against her ear. “Steph. Steph, can I-”

His hands are sliding down her back, pausing at the top of her pajama pants and she shudders as she lifts her head. “Yes,” she agrees easily, nods when his hands cup her ass. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Steph.” His hands aren’t gentle as he yanks her into him, uses her ass to angle her against him just right. Her hips are already moving in aborted little circles, her hands clenching in his coat, her head tilting to get at his mouth. She gets barely a split second of warning, his hands clenching just below her ass, before he’s lifting her up.

She squeaks a little, scrambles to get her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips to steady them both. He laughs into her neck and Steph is so, so far gone, because the sound is everything to her.

“Don’t worry,” he says, kisses her cheek softly, the laugh still rumbling in the back of his throat. “I’ve got you.”

And finally, finally he presses his mouth to hers. Everything feels different when he does, the emotion rising in her fast and hard. It leaves her breathless in a whole other way, her fingers fisting in his jacket to yank him closer, kiss him harder. He hums against her lips, stumbling a little as he moves to press her against the wall. He pins her so easily against it, uses the leverage to finally, finally, touch her.

She remembers the feel of the calluses on his skin, the touch of roughness against her stomach and sides and ribs. But this time, she lets herself believe the emotion behind his hands, the reverence he uses, even as his mouth moves roughly, desperately against hers. His hands are teasing and gentle, drawing loops and swirls over her sides. Her body trembles so easily for it, shakes and shivers at his every touch.

“Roman,” she moans, breaks away for air and to focus just a little bit more on his hands, the realization that he’s so, so slowly rucking up her sleep shirt. She wants to yank it over her own head but can’t seem to make her hands stop moving over his jacket, She gets impatient with it, wants his skin beneath her hands and not fabric, wants to look her fill because…because he’s hers. Because he loves her.

“Put me down,” she says breathlessly, her hands trailing down his arms and she yelps when he all but drops her. His hands slip out from under her shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, stepping back a little. “I-”

“What? No.” She laughs, giddy, gets her hands in his jacket again. “No. I still… I want you. Just…with less clothes.”

“Oh.” He looks so relieved that Steph has to step in, has to wrap herself around him, tilt her head back.

“Roman, you know I’m still in love with you, right?” she murmurs.

His hand strokes over her hair, down the side of her face. His eyes are so intense on hers. "I hoped.”

She hums happily as she slips her fingertips beneath his clothes until she can brush against the warm bare skin of his back. He stares down at her, pupils dilating, hips pushing into hers instinctively. For the first time as she watches him, as she feels him beneath her hands she feels totally safe in telling him. “Roman, I’m still so in love with you.”

He groans and takes her mouth, shrugs off his jacket and leaves it in a puddle there on the floor. She slides her hands around until she can grip the cotton at his sides, yanks the sweater and shirt he’s wearing beneath it up over his head. Her breath catches as she looks at him now, half-naked in the light of day, with everything bare between them. It looks different, it feels different, and her touch is feather light as she drags her fingers down his chest and over his abs.

“Fuck,” he breathes and this time when she looks up and catches the heat in his eyes she lets herself tremble with it. This time she believes it, believes that it’s all hers, all for her, and all because of her. He tilts towards her, leans into her almost, his hands fisting in her shirt. He all but whips it over her head, groans when he discovers that she’s bra-less and presses his mouth to her shoulder. It’s not really a kiss, more just his mouth against her skin but Steph tilts her head to the side anyway.

He groans and takes the invitation, drags his tongue along her skin until his mouth is against her pulse, until he can feel the way it flutters beneath his touch. He holds there, his hands smoothing up her stomach until he can cup both of her breasts in his hands. Steph’s body arches into the touch, her hands sliding around to clutch at his back to keep her steady.

“I remember this,” he murmurs into her skin, his thumbs drawing teasing circles around her nipples. Steph closes her eyes against the onslaught, her mind a whirl of sensation and Roman.

“You were so eager for it,” he tells her, curses in German when she moans. “Exactly like this.” He raises his head and she whimpers. He laughs, slides one hand away from her breast to press at her lower back. Her hips arch into his, into the bulge she can feel against his jeans.

“I knew I could make you feel good,” he goes on, right against her cheek, her jaw. She shivers with it. “But that wasn’t what it was about, was it?”

Her breath catches when with a few deft movements he has her all but bent back over his arm, his mouth on her breast. Her hands bump awkwardly against his arms, his elbows as she tries to get her hands in his hair, to hold him there. Not that he shows any sign of moving away any time soon. Instead, he laves attention on one breast, then the other, until she’s panting and shuddering with it, overwhelmed but craving more.

She whimpers when he lifts his head, eyes opening so she can scold him. Her breath leaves her when she gets a look at his face, the clear want, but everything else. Warm and adoring and Steph can only hope a fraction of that is showing on her face too.

“It wasn’t just about feeling good,” he says, fingertips feathering over her cheek, down her neck. Two fingers press right against her pulse again and Steph instinctively arches her neck. “It was because it was you and me. Together.”

There is nothing steady about the breath that she releases then. There isn’t a damn steady thing about her really and he looks in awe of her. She’s not about to deny it, not when he’s here in Columbus and just as in love with her as she is with him. It makes it so, so easy to breath out, “Yes.”

He groans and takes her mouth, presses her against the wall again. Steph can’t breathe through his kisses. He barely gives her half a second between changing the angle, the thrust of his tongue, the way his hands streak over the naked skin of her upper body.

“Naked,” he finally breaks away to pant. “I want you naked.”

She huffs, head thumping back against the wall. He makes a desperate noise and leans in to kiss her neck, her throat, the hollow of her collarbones. “Okay. You want me naked, we have to get out of the kitchen.”  

His eyes flash and then he’s picking her up again, hands under her ass to hoist her into his arms. She squeaks, a happy, gleeful sound and wraps her thighs around his hips. She takes the opportunity to bite at his neck, suck at his ear and his fingers tense in the meat of her ass with every press of her mouth against his skin.

“Where-”

“Oh. First on the right.” Saader would kill her, will probably still kill her when he gets back to find their clothes on the floor but that thought is so far from her mind right now.

Roman tumbles her to the bed and she yelps, can’t get a hold of herself fast enough to register when he yanks her pajamas and panties down her legs at once. He drags his hands up her calves to her knees and just looks at her for a few moments, eyes as hot as a caress.

“Your turn,” she says around a rough breath, pushes herself up on her elbows so she can watch him unbuckle his belt and strip off his jeans and underwear in one go. He doesn’t give her time to look after he’s tossed his socks aside, just crawls up her body to kiss her. It’s hard and fast and desperate and she’s moaning and panting into his mouth. It isn’t until he sinks his teeth into her skin just below her collarbone and she cries out that she grips his hair, yanks him up until she can bury her face in his neck and just hold on.

Her arms are too tight, she knows that, but Roman’s gone utterly still above her. “Steph?”

She’s not totally sure how to articulate what’s going on with her, how she feels and why she so very suddenly needs him to stay like this, just for a moment, just so she can take it in. “You’re here.”

He relaxes immediately, one arm struggling around hers until he can cup her skull, the other slipping under her shoulder. He must get it, there must be some indication in her voice, maybe in the way her whole body is trembling with it. “Not going anywhere,” he promises her. “Not ever.”

They hold like that for a moment before his mouth presses so, so softly against her jaw. Her arms relax enough for him to nuzzle at her neck but he’s slow this time, exploratory, like his reassurance that he has nowhere else to be has tempered his own desperate desire. He can take his time, they can take their time and she feels the arousal pool in her stomach at the implications.

Whether he’s of the same mind, his mouth is feather light against her skin, his fingers scratching gently at her scalp. She lets her hands stroke up the warm skin of his back, feels every muscle shift beneath his skin and sighs happily. He feels just as good between her thighs as he had last time. Except this time she is sober and he is moving so, so slowly down her collarbones to the swell of her breast.

She threads her fingers into his hair and sighs as he brushes his mouth over her nipple, gasps when he wraps his lips around it. His tongue rasps over her skin and her back arches on a moan. “Roman.”

He hums and she shakes; he sucks and she whines. He trails his mouth across to her other breast and her hips start moving, little thrusts against his body, trying for friction, for something more than just his mouth on her breasts. It’s good, so good, but it’s nowhere near enough, and not even the beginning of what she needs.

“More,” she gasps, tugs on his hair until he kisses her again, warm and slow. “I want more.”

“As you wish.”

Steph trembles as his mouth drags down her stomach. He takes his time there too, tongue and a little bit of teeth, finding the sensitive spot just below her ribs. Her body bucks into his mouth as he sucks a mark on her hipbone and then he’s using his hands to spread her thighs so he can duck between them.

He teases around her labia first until she’s all but begging him to stop teasing, to give her more. He does then, slips his tongue right into her, then up over her clit. She gets lost in it, the drive up, up, up, until she can barely suck in a breath through the pleasure sparking through her limbs, across her nerves. She’s seconds from tipping over, her body moving with every press of his tongue, fighting instinctively to get just that bit closer, make him give her just that little bit more.

“Roman. Roman I’m-”

He pulls away.

She curses loud and long as she glares at him. His mouth is shining just a little, slick with her she knows. His eyebrows are up in surprise, his hands trailing over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. It’s enough to keep her humming on the edge, but not enough, not near enough to placate her.

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe,” he says with a grin that should not be as scorchingly hot as it is. Steph groans and drops her head back. She gasps and twitches when she feels his mouth against her thigh, hips pushing up when he spreads her legs again, spreads her and runs his tongue up the length of her. She swears as he dives in again, pushes her just that little bit higher and pulls away _again_ at the last minute.

“I’m going to kill you.”

But Roman only laughs and smooths his hands over her hips, her outer thighs. “I like watching you.”

She opens her mouth to give him a detailed description of how she’s going to murder him if he doesn’t make her come soon when he ducks down and wraps his lips around her clit, sends her arching back up to that edge.

By the time he’s finally ready to let her come, he’s teased her for so long that the moment he slides two fingers inside her, Steph goes off. She chokes on a moan, her back arching off the bed as the orgasm takes her. He fucks her through it, mouth gentle on her clit but fingers relentless. When she starts to come down, he presses his tongue against her clit. She chokes off a cry, her body seizing up and Roman groans, finds his rhythm again and sends her careening into her second orgasm.

Her body won’t stop trembling as she pulls in deep gulps of air and it takes some seriously conscious thought to get her fists to let go of the sheets. She gasps and twitches when he presses his mouth to her stomach, around her belly button. His mouth is slick with her, sticky where it clings to her skin and she slides a hand into his hair.

He’s smiling when he meets her gaze, his hands smoothing over her thighs. They jerk with every brush, a delicate quiet hum under her skin. She feels wonderful and empty at the same time, sighs with it when he moves to brace himself above her. He leans in to kiss her and she laughs, slaps a hand over his mouth.

“Nuh uh, buster.” God, she sounds wrecked. She laughs again, closes her eyes for a moment to get a handle on herself. “I’m not kissing you after that. Not without brushing your teeth.”

He blinks at her for a moment. “Really?”

He doesn’t sound judgmental so much as curious and Steph nods, shoring up what’s left of her strength. “Come on,” she says. “I’ll even show you where my spare toothbrush is.”

He follows her to the bathroom easy enough, his hand brushing down her back and over her ass. It’s an awkward walk for her, the mess between her thighs a little uncomfortable now, but she crouches down to pull a spare toothbrush out of the cabinet anyway. He takes it from her and wraps his free arm around her, nuzzling his nose carefully against hers.

“Stay?”

She hums. “Gotta wipe up first.”

He doesn’t look pleased about that, and Steph laughs again because God, she is so giddy. Two consecutive orgasms with the man she loves so completely have left her loose, happy.

She goes for a washcloth as Roman opens the toothbrush and finds her toothpaste.  He wrinkles his nose at the cinnamon flavour, but sticks the toothbrush in his mouth nonetheless. Steph hipchecks him gently out of the way, wets the cloth and cleans herself up just enough to be comfortable. It’s soothingly domestic for a few moments, even if Steph can still see how hard he is, how hot his eyes are as they slide over her naked skin. She hums as she tosses the cloth towards the tub and wraps her arms around him.

His steady rhythm with the brush stutters for a moment as her hands splay over his abs, as she slides one down to wrap his cock in her hand. He thrusts into the touch just a little and Steph presses a kiss to the back of his shoulder. He leans down and spits before catching her eyes in the mirror.

“Not fair.” And if she thinks she sounded wrecked two orgasms in and trying to get her brain back online, it’s nothing compared to how he sounds, deep and hot and _wanting_. He doesn’t even bother rinsing the toothbrush, just tosses it into the sink so he can get his hands on her again. “Invest in mouthwash.”

She’s already nodding, long before he swings her around and kisses her. She gives into it for long, long moments, lets herself just enjoy the fact that Roman is here and he’s kissing her and when they can finally break away from each other she’s going to have him inside her again…it’s all a heady feeling and she actually whines into his mouth. He presses his cock into her hip in response, reminds her that he’s not holding on too well either.

“Bed,” he growls when they can finally break away from each other and, well, Steph doesn’t need to be told twice. He stops her before she can climb onto the mattress, splays a hand against her stomach in a mirror image of what she’d done back in the bathroom. He nestles his cock up against her ass and Steph shivers.

“Next time,” he murmurs into her shoulder. “We do it like this.”

Steph groans, tries to bend over in his grip, brace herself against the bed because who the fuck cares about doing it next time, they’re here now and she has no complaints. But Roman’s catching her with a hand braced between her breasts, his mouth against the top of her spine.

“Next time, Steph. I want to see your face.”

It doesn’t help the sparks that shimmer down her spine. She nods fervently. “Yes, okay, whatever. Just fuck me now.”

The next thing she knows she’s on her back on the bed, staring up at him and panting. He’s stretched out above her, reaching for the condom and Steph can’t stop herself from pressing her mouth to every inch of skin she can reach. She makes a disgruntled sound when he rolls off of her, already ripping the condom open. He sheathes himself a moment later and reaches for her. Yes, she thinks as she climbs over him, straddles his hips.

She rocks against his cock a few times, still slick enough that it feels good. Even so, he slips his hand between her thighs, strokes and plays with her clit until she’s wet again, her breath coming short and sharp in her lungs.

“Come on, Steph,” he urges as he moves his hands to her hips. She shifts easily enough, reaches down to take him in hand and guide him in. She sighs as she stretches around him, her eyes fluttering as she uses her other hand to brace herself on his chest. His fingers clench on her hips and she breathes through the spike of pain because he feels so damn good inside her.

She twists her hips the moment he’s seated fully inside her, her nerves catching fire with every shift of her body. She’s spread so open around him and he’s watching her with hot eyes, darting from her face to her breasts to where they’re joined like he can’t figure out what the best part of this is. Not that she blames him. She brings her other hand up until she’s braced over his pecs, thumbs slipping to brush over his nipples. The string of profanity he releases isn’t English and she gasps as he lifts her off his cock a little, enough that he can thrust up into her.

“Roman, oh my God.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, moans desperately. “God, you feel so good, Steph.”

She shudders with the praise, moves to brace herself by his head so she can kiss him. It’s messy and completely uncoordinated because the space it gives him means he’s fucking up into her in a fast, sharp, desperate rhythm that hits her a bit like a truck. His pelvis is pressing against her clit with every thrust but it’s not consistent enough to get her off. She whimpers into his mouth and he growls back.

“Go on,” he says, voice rough. “Come on. I know you can make yourself come.”

She has to sit up to fit her hand between them, but he’s watching her with blown pupils and every emotion naked on his face, awe and love and desire all mixed up together. She shivers and says, “One day, I’m going to make you watch.”

“Fuck, _Steph_.”

His body arches beautifully when he comes, aborted little thrusts that are good but not enough and he groans when it becomes too much for him. She’s panting when she tumbles off him, her hand pressing against her own clit because she is so, so close. It takes him a moment to get with the program, and then he’s groaning out her name again (and that is going to haunt her, keep her just on the edge of arousal every time she thinks about it), rolling into his side and sliding his fingers back inside her.

Still, it takes his mouth wrapped around her nipple to send her careening over that edge for the third time that night and she shoves at his hand and his head when the sharp spikes of pleasure fade. Then she turns, all but climbs on top of him and wrestles her arms around his neck, emotion stabbing at her chest until she has her face buried in his neck and his arms are tight around his back.

He’s murmuring into her skin when she finally catches her breath, her face a bit wet and God, that’s embarrassing. But when she pulls back he doesn’t look that much better, his hand brushing at the tear streaks on her cheeks. She laughs, watery and his smile shakes at the edges with the same overwhelming… well. It’s a lot. It’s all a lot.

“I love you,” he murmurs to her. “I really, really love you.”

Her sigh shakes her as she strokes his face too, takes in that it is actually Roman beneath her, sated and sleepy-eyed, telling her everything she’d wanted to hear for so long and _meaning it_. Her kiss is soft, slow, satisfied and he responds in kind.

“Shower,” she murmurs, lets her touch, her eyes and her voice convey all that emotion back at him, love and happiness, contentment and satisfaction all wrapped up in a single word. “Then we’re going to cuddle and nap and do it again.”

 

It’s not easy, starting a relationship on the road, and Steph feels a whole new kinship with Jack on the nights where all she has is Roman’s voice in her ear and maybe his face on Facetime. It’s not the same as having him right next to her, and yeah, okay, maybe it makes the adjustment to Columbus a little harder than she’d anticipated.

It’s a weird feeling to not be absolutely gutted when Columbus doesn’t make the playoffs. It’s less of a surprise than it should be (and she will never, ever admit that she, Jack and Nuge have a really depressing bet going on who’ll win the draft lottery this year) but it irrationally makes Steph feel better when Nashville doesn’t make it either. Roman will be devastated though after fighting all season to hang onto a wild card spot, but Steph… well, Steph schedules all of her exit stuff and books the next flight out of Ohio.

His is the first face she sees when she finally gets through immigration and baggage control. The feeling of seeing him in person, after weeks of this damn long distance thing is almost indescribable and yes, Steph thinks as she launches herself at him, they are absolutely _that_ couple.

Roman catches her easily, letting out a little “oof!” for effect. His kiss is a little too short for her liking, but they have a long time to make up for it, all summer if they can swing it. The thought makes her a little giddy as he slowly sets her back down on her feet. “Missed you,” he murmurs, nuzzling her neck.

“I missed you too,” she says, breathing in the scent of him, her hand fisting in his shirt.

“Well, let’s remedy that.” He slings an arm around her shoulders, grabbing her other suitcase.

“How close are the Alps?” she wants to know as they walk out. “Because I have to have my ‘The Sound of Music’ moment.”

Roman sends her a pained look. “Why do Americans always want to do that?”

“Don’t you insult Julie Andrews,” Steph threatens, digging her fingers into his side just to hear him yelp. It’s worth it though because he wrestles her until she’s tightly, and maybe a bit awkwardly, pressed against him, stumbling a little and laughing out of giddy happiness. She feels him kiss her head.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmurs against the side of her head. “All mine, all summer.”

Steph has no other recourse but to turn and kiss him because that, well. That sounds pretty damn perfect. “Ich liebe dich,” she breathes, just like she practiced, smiling against his lips.

He groans, pressing her back against his car. “Steph-what-how did you-?”

“I might have been practicing,” she admits. “Have to impress your family somehow, don’t I?”

“They already love you,” he assures her. He blushes a little bit as he admits, “Mother was really smug when I told her. She said she knew from the beginning that it would be you.”

“Mothers,” she laughs, pleased. “Oh, fair warning, my family is giving us a week or two before they descend. They said you’re not allowed to hog me.”

“Like hell I can’t,” he mumbles. “We’ll just disappear into a chalet the whole summer, _that_ will be hogging.”

Roman’s adorable when he’s pouting. Steph presses tiny little kisses all over his face, giddy with absolutely everything. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells him. “We’re together.” And that’s all that really matters.

**Author's Note:**

> We'd apologize for all the emotions but...we're really not sorry. It was every bit as painful to write, we promise you that. Also, Steph and Roman, once together, are most certainly the Cavity Couple. Also, the Girl Brigade is really protective of our softhearted Steph. More on that to come.
> 
> Note on Seth Jones' trade: News of that broke when we were halfway through this draft. We decided to push it off for a year to suit our purposes.
> 
> For more Girl Brigade, come to tumblr and chat!: [wonthetrade](http://wonthetrade.tumblr.com).


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